A Friend To Me
by Mitzig
Summary: Men are being killed and there doesn't seem to be a pattern. An old friend of Chris and Buck shows up to complicate the matter.
1. Chapter 1

This is an old story and it will probably read that way. The story I am working on now will make reference to events in this story so I'm posting it so the next one will make sense.

 _You and I, we're buddies  
And we've been since we first met.  
Me and you, well, we've sure been through  
Our share of laughter and regrets.  
Lord knows we've had our bad days  
And more than once we've disagreed,  
But you've always been a friend to me.  
You can be so stubborn,  
There's times I think you just like to fight  
And I hope and pray I live to see the day  
When you say I might be right  
And there's times I'd rather kill you  
Than listen to your honesty  
But you've always been a friend to me.  
You've always been  
Time and again  
The one to take my hand  
And show me  
That it's okay to be  
Just the way I am  
With no apologies  
Oh, You've always been  
and you will 'til God knows when  
Yes, you've always been, a friend to me…_

"A Friend To Me"  
Garth Brooks

A FRIEND TO ME

The seven men kneed their horses up the rock and shale encrusted rise. Their formation was as subtly out of sync as their sense of camaraderie. Chris Larabee's smoky gelding led as usual, but not from the center of his fellow peacekeepers. Vin Tanner sat his mount to Larabee's right, as had become second nature. He appreciated that Josiah Sanchez rode next to him, attempting some degree of soothing by his mere presence. Nathan Jackson rode in the center, his natural need to heal currently, subconsciously, extended to trying to position himself to mend the rift within his family. Ezra Standish, beside Nathan, scanned the horizon, apparently oblivious or disinterested in any emotional upheaval that didn't effect him personally. That Gambit's head bobbed nervously on an arched neck, and shook his mane as he blew, was a clue that the horse was picking up on something from his master; something humans could not sense. Vin smiled. He didn't miss the fact that the horse gave up the unsettled discernment the gambler tried to conceal. Vin suspected it was no coincidence that Larabee's resident antagonist positioned himself to show support for Buck.

Buck Wilmington. Another action taken on a subconscious level. The tall gunfighter would not allow their youngest member to act as a part of the buffer that the others now represented between him and his old time friend. So JD rode to Buck's right seeking some comfort in proximity and praying for action. He thought he would take any distraction to refocus the anger and frustration that worked its way back and forth among the men like ball lightning across barbed wire.

Vin was disquieted as he watched his best friend for any of the wordless communication they shared and he valued so protectively. Larabee seemed to be consciously fighting the rapport. He and Buck had had rifts before. Chris had been on the outs with the others - Ezra more times than Vin cared to count. But he had never let it spill over into their ability to communicate silently. Something else was going on here. Buck had some hint of what it was, and he didn't like it.

A series of killings had gradually worked its way east. The victims, all men, were usually strangers in the land in which they died. Once identified, the men had nothing in common. They had been fathers, businessmen, ranchers, loners and drunks ... content, ambitious, angry, kind and malicious. The men would disappear from their homes and days or weeks later, they were dead. Even the manner of death held little consistency. There appeared to be no pattern or motive.

As the threat finally approached the outer ranges of the territory protected by the Magnificent Seven, the nighthawks added the element of fire to their attacks. A young boy, Israel Phillips, had suffered painful, permanent scarring from the flames. The husband was missing. The wife was left to comfort her son alone.

The quiet, introspective bounty hunter recognized the haunting grief that, never far from the surface, again had his friend dwelling on those last moments when Sarah and Adam had been alone. Wondering, had Sarah been able to give any comfort to their son in the end?

 _The timing for all of this couldn't be worse_ Vin reflected with more than a little uncommon bitterness. Chris had by no means come to terms with identifying Ella Gaines as the one behind his family's death. It wasn't surprising that when fire and the attacks on families were added to these raids the inconsolable widower saw that woman's touch. He set out to exploit this new lead in his quest to find the murderess.

Chris had bitterly refused to allow Buck or any of the others to accompany him in his pursuit. Wilmington had defiantly refused to wait for Chris to return before he and JD set out on their own to track down the men who threatened their boundaries.

Biting down on the stubby cigar between his teeth, the dark gunfighter cut his eyes down the line of men beside him. He couldn't help it. He was mad at Buck. He knew Buck was mad at him. But Chris felt his own anger was different, justified. With little more than a feeling deep in his gut, Chris believed Ella Gaines was telling him she was still in the area. Was it just his imagination? He couldn't take the chance.

He refused to let Buck anywhere near Ella again. The man didn't have a lick of sense when it came to self-preservation.. Ella had killed a woman and child; had been willing to kill men she hadn't even known. But she knew Buck. Or of him. She knew he had seen Chris through the first time he left her. Now the second. He had seen him through the loss of Sarah and Adam. No, Buck wouldn't be anywhere around if he even suspected Ella was in the area. He was too good a target. But his carefree friend would argue away all of these concerns if they were explained to him, so Chris used anger to push him away. _And then what was he thinking? With only that damn kid, he had set off to search them out on his own._

Buck sat slightly forward over his borrowed horse's neck; tense. He couldn't relax back in the saddle. Buck had been furious when Chris insisted on looking for Ella Gaines alone. Buck knew that bitch now. He'd only heard stories before. She knew everything there was to know about Chris - how to play him, how to reel him in, how to get to him emotionally. Buck tried to hold on to the anger, but when he thought about what his friend had been through, it was lost to a more painful emotion - grief. A great sense of loss.

Buck felt someone watching him and looked up in time to meet Vin's companionable blue gaze. But Buck sensed the other man was gauging his emotions through his eyes. He knew he was being read and tried to hide what he was feeling.

Vin sighed. He remembered sitting in front of the Sheriff's office with Chris after his returned. He had come back with only the certainty that these dangerous men were nearby - and then to find that Buck and JD were missing...

Well after sunset Chris's glance would drift toward the east end of town. "I don't rightly expect them back tonight," Vin offered, "Knowin' Buck... "

"Yeah. I know Buck," Chris had grumbled and headed for the bar and a bottle.

Chris's patience had been pushed beyond endurance the next mid-morning, seeing Casey Wells, stirrups flying as she pumped her horse into town. Her breathless account of men coming in the pre-dawn hours infuriated him. "We have to get back. Help her." She had pled. Casey's offering that, "Aunt Nettie made me leave her. She thinks they might be the ones you're after," had them horse bound in record time. Chris's mind reeled with what these men were capable of.

Anticipating what they would come up on, the ashes, and the smell... for just the briefest of moments, during that race to the ranch, dreading what they could find, Vin could put himself in his friend's place that day, long ago. _What a horrific, waking nightmare, to ride up on_...

Vin was jolted from his reverie by the flutter of small wings. A mourning dove flittered from a scrub mesquite as they passed. For several yards, the soft gray bird seemed unable to get one wing to work. Finally she took off into the air. Vin shot an embarrassed grimace toward Chris for being caught so unaware. It wouldn't do for them to be come upon by these men because he was distracted. Chris finally, begrudgingly, acknowledged Vin's earlier protective regard with a half-grin. "Guess we've all been a bit high strung, lately."

Vin chortled at his friend's acquiescence to the situation. Knowing the intense Chris Larabee was on guard, Vin couldn't seem to help but let his thoughts drift back to the day before. What were the chance course of events that had Buck and JD show up at Nettie's just as Chris's anger had reached the boiling point? There had been little real damage to Nettie's place, a few lost hens, and foodstuffs, her medicinal whiskey. Where Vin had been relieved at this sight, the thought of what they might have found had yet to let go of Chris's mind and body.

"They had a Southern accent, boys. Not as smooth as Mr. Standish, but they were Johnny Rebs." Nettie had been toward the end of her story when...

"Who?" JD asked as he dashed in like a windstorm. "What happened? Is everybody okay?" Chicken feathers scattered like a fox had been in the hen house, broken corral posts and broken windows, had startled the boy. He ran up onto the porch and burst inside. He had been met by Chris's overeager trigger finger. Chris pulled up immediately. He was on a short fuse. He could have pulled the trigger.

"Damn it, JD, don't you ever learn? Running in without thought to the situation... "

"I... I saw... outside... "

"Even more reason to be cautious before you barge in!"

"He thought since your horses were out front, Pard, you'd have things under control. Boy mighta even thought to be safer with you." Buck followed JD in and quickly defended the boy's actions. "I'll set him straight. Don't want Chris Larabee shoving a gun up your nose." Buck's quick smile and light tone of voice was in conflict with the tension in his body and the protective 'leave him alone' glare he threw at Chris.

"I was worried, Miz Nettie, " JD offered as an apology. "Are you and Casey alright?"

"Casey's just comin' outta the barn, Kid. Go ask her yourself."

JD willingly vacated the electrified room. "Ease up on the boy, Chris." Buck's tone was threatening.

"What does it take, Buck? For you to act responsibly? You knew these men were in the area."

"We were looking for those men. Here, Eagle Bend, what does it matter where we focus the search? One more night... "

"One more night?" Chris's voice was a low, feral whisper. "How long before you tell JD 'one more night' and he comes home to worse than this?"

Buck blanched. The color left his face as if he were one week dead. He knew exactly what his old friend referred to. _Let's stay one more night_ _._ The Mexico Trip. It was one of many they'd taken, but this one was forever, 'The Mexico Trip'. They had stayed one more night. It had been Buck's idea. When they returned... the charred wooden ruins... the memory...

Buck had been blindsided. There was no way he could have known what happened here at Nettie's. No way to prevent it. No way to know why it brought this blow from his old friend. But Buck never defended himself against this one attack by Chris. Chris could never blame Buck more than he blamed himself for that day. Buck, too, had lost Sarah and Adam. And Buck had lost his best friend. Ezra's first thought was that he was glad JD hadn't been witness to this altercation. Nathan had to look away from the despair and shock he saw in Buck's expressive eyes.

Chris saw it, too. And he shut his eyes. The dead ends, chasing the nightriders, the fires, the deformed child, Buck taking his risks, the attack on Nettie's place, the memories of Sarah and Adam... and Ella. They mirrored each other, magnified his pain and anger, and reflected it all back stronger than before.

So why did he always focus that hurt on the friend who had walked that lost trail with him? It was because Buck knew his secrets, his weaknesses, knew he cared in a way none of the others could. Or at least the enigmatic gunfighter could deny it of the others, or so he thought. They hadn't been there. But Buck had been there and represented emotions that could tear him open again.

Chris opened his eyes. How long had he been lost in thought? Buck was no longer in the living room. Nathan and Josiah had busied themselves helping Nettie clean up. He could see Buck through the window checking Pal's fore hoof. JD was with Casey by the corral. Vin was giving him space. And Ezra. There was a look on his face that was unexpected. Some barely contained emotion. Ezra must have sensed Chris's eyes on him because just as quickly the passive mask replaced the emotion. And Ezra left the house.

Now, in the open countryside, these were the events and resulting feelings that kept the bounty hunter from giving full attention to his surroundings. Vin hadn't missed the look on Ezra's face either. Or Josiah, or Nathan. He knew his friend had regretted some of the things he had said as soon as they were out of his mouth. And then he learned Buck's big gray had picked up a stone bruise which had contributed to their delay in getting back to Four Corners; that they had only been at Nettie's because it was closer than town.

"Maybe you could stay here, JD." Buck had suggested. Vin suspected the older man didn't want the kid around Larabee in his current frame of mind.

"It's my job." The young sheriff had responded. Casey started to protest. JD turned to her. "We're after the men who did this. I want to make sure they don't come back." Nettie pulled Casey away. She would talk with her later. To Nettie's way of thinking, a woman shouldn't pull a man from his responsibility.

"We'll take good care of Pal here, Mr. Wilmington." Nettie said to change the subject. "We'll see she gets to town when she's better and shuffle the animals around later." She took up the reins of Buck's horse and handed them to Casey.

"Thank you, Ma'am." Buck mounted the horse Nettie loaned him and readied to ride out.

Vin thought back on the events. The emotions rode along with them now. He looked over at Chris. At least it seemed his best friend was mellowing. And Buck, well, Buck was Buck. He'd come around with just a little time. But for now the bushwhackers were still out there. And Larabee made sure none of his men patrolled alone. Not the shadowy night streets of Four Corners, not the isolated ranches, not the desert-chilled open spaces.

The seven rode together, tense, trying not to choose sides. They finally crested the slight rise. The sight that greeted them was a surprise even though it was what - more than what - they had hoped to find.

Two men had just dumped a corpse and were making their way out of the deeply carved creek bed.

Impulsively, Buck spurred his horse forward. "Buck!" JD was with him like he was a part of him. Chris gritted his teeth as he spurred forward, following the others in to back up their reckless friend.

Buck rushed his horse to meet his opponents on the gradually sloping near bank of the creek. The far side of the creek, a ten-foot high craggy rock face of limestone and granite slab, had been carved by flash floods down through the ages. A man could climb the cliff, but it was too steep for a horse.

The two cowboys sat their mounts and awaited Buck's approach. Vin noticed they didn't appear nervous. With retreat blocked by the cliff and the law in front, they should... he cut his eyes toward his best friend as their horses matched pace down the slope. They came to the same conclusion at the same time.

"Buck!" Chris bellowed, "Ambush!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Buck!" Chris bellowed, "Ambush!"

Chris's words had no effect on Wilmington, determined to get some answers. It was the two men who responded. They dove from their horses; went for their guns. Buck mirrored their dismount as he fired and hit one in the upper thigh.

This series of events saved Buck. A bullet meant to take his head off sent his hat sailing across the grass instead. Several men opened fire on the posse from the boulders on the higher cliff. Bullets bit at JD's heels as he ran to join Buck.

Vin splashed his horse across the thin rivulets of spring water in the otherwise dry creek bed before he threw himself from the saddle. He slammed against the base of the cliff and waited. No bullets came his way. The men above couldn't get an angle on his position. Then Josiah was there beside him. The preacher could move when needed to.

Vin and Josiah looked around for their friends. They saw Ezra wrench his rifle from the scabbard as he reined his mount to a dancing halt; then slap the gelding's flank to hurry him out of the line of fire. The gambler sought the first shelter he could find. The low boulders were little protection from their attackers who had the high ground and a good angle on everything below. Nathan was pinned down in a similar position to Ezra. All he could do was try to stay behind cover. Any attempt to get off a shot would make him a certain target.

Near the creek bed, the largest of the boulders where Buck and JD took refuge was easily four feet tall. A gnarled oak tree, partially protected by the stones and established before the creek bed shifted, had somehow survived the years of flash floods. Buck stood behind the oak. JD crouched behind the boulder.

Buck's brilliant smile reflected a reckless, adrenaline induced euphoria. This gunfight was an outlet for darker emotions he refused to analyze. These men, murderers, the enemy, not friends, they could be an outlet for his anger.

Chris recognized the near self-destructive look on his friend's face as he dove for cover behind the smaller boulders on JD's left. As was too often the case lately, it was Chris's anger that led him to his oldest friend's side.

As he snapped off another shot, Buck playfully reached down and threw JD's bowler to the ground between them. "Told ya, Kid, keep... "

JD unthinkingly dove for the hat as Buck spoke, "Damn it, Buck... "

Chris caught JD's arm and pulled him back against the boulder. It was the only thing that kept the next volley from above them from hitting the young man. "Damn it, Buck! Think! Before you get him killed like... "

There was a moment frozen in time. The unfinished sentence echoed in Buck's mind _Like Sarah and Adam...like Sarah and Adam... like…_ Chris's earlier reference to that day was still too fresh. Buck, who had just stepped from behind the oak to take a shot, couldn't move. Their eyes met. For too long, Chris had conditioned himself to displace worry and care with anger. And so it was anger Buck saw reflected back at him. To JD's horror he realized his best friend had broken cover and made no move to return. Chris held the boy tight as he struggled to get to his friend.

Larabee had reproached Buck angrily, "Damn it, Buck, think! Before you get him killed like you're tryin' to do yourself... "

The look on Buck's face brought even Chris Larabee up short. He had no way of understanding that the real words he said never registered in Buck's mind, never filtered past what his own blame and regrets had him hearing. _like Sarah and Adam... like Sarah and..._ it wouldn't leave Buck's head.

A ricochet bit into the tree by Buck's temple. Wood and shrapnel pelted him, brought forth pinpricks of blood and reawakened him to his surroundings. He grabbed JD's second gun from its holster and, both blazing, ran at and up the shale lined escarpment.

Larabee held JD in place. "Let me go!" The youngster demanded as he struggled to follow and at the same time lay down cover for Buck.

The others, however, backed Buck's reckless move. Nathan and Ezra left cover, scrambled, zigged and zagged to confuse those shooting at them. Bullets nipped at their feet as Buck, Ezra and Nathan ran forward. A bullet bit at Buck's shirtsleeve and tore away some cloth. Ezra stumbled and recovered when a bullet splashed water from directly in front of his back foot. Josiah and Vin offered what cover they could when the ambushers would lean out into their sights, but it was clearly only a matter of time before the men above got the range. Vin and Josiah backed away from the cliff, rifles blazing trying for better shots. An acrid smudge filled the air. Chris methodically fired at muzzle blasts and puffs of smoke when they came. JD was too busy covering his friends to continue the attempt to follow them. Nathan's shot felled the second of the two men who had originally dropped the body.

Josiah began to despair when the sounds from the rifles above them suddenly doubled. Until he noticed that the number of bullets hitting near his friends immediately decreased. The firing stopped.

Josiah and Vin cautiously scaled the upper bank to find nothing but dust from retreating horses. Blood on some rocks and grass told the tale that some of their bullets had hit their marks. That the ambushers would not leave dead or wounded behind presented several possible conclusions. Reading of any other sign was cut short as first Josiah then Vin turned back to the angry voices below.

"Damn it, Buck, you're not bullet proof!" Chris was yelling. He never had to raise his voice, in fact, the lower it got, the more threatening it became. But his old friend had always been able to get him yelling. "What were you thinking?" Chris continued to demand. Buck turned to walk away. Chris grabbed his arm and spun him back around. "I want an answer."

"I was thinking I wanted to take on people I knew were trying to hurt me. I now how to handle that." Buck breathed as he swiped at the blood that trickled down the side of his face. He only succeeded in smearing the coppery red across his temple.

"What are we gonna do, Buck? I don't want a friend getting killed because they were stupid enough to back your damn fool play." Buck tossed the lethal gunslinger an enigmatic smirk that threatened something deep in his heart. Larabee refused to show it had touched him. Finally Buck wordlessly turned and walked away.

Larabee's head didn't move, but his eyes shifted to Tanner who had come up during the rather one-sided confrontation. He read the question in Larabee's eyes - what was that look he just gave me?

"He's your friend, too." Was all Vin said.

If Larabee had been inclined to pursue the statement, he was stopped as Nathan dragged the injured man up to him. "The other one's dead." Larabee took in the stranger, including Nathan's quick handiwork on the thigh wound

"Anyone hurt?" The brooding man in black asked without taking his eyes from their prisoner.

"Nothing bad." Nathan replied as he watched Buck hunker down by the meager spring, put water to his bandanna and clean the already drying blood from his temple. It didn't look serious, but Nathan would check it to be sure, now that he didn't have to get between Buck and Chris to do it. Before he turned back to the prisoner Nathan saw JD had retrieved Buck's hat and offered it to him. Buck's genuine smile at the relieved look on the boy's face had Nathan shaking his head and laughing to himself. That boy was always the best medicine for their other overgrown kid.

Nathan's attention was drawn back by angry questions thrown at the prisoner. "Who are you? Did you kill that man? Who do you ride with?" No answer.

The man's face showed anger. His stance showed defiance. His lips held a smirk. Not as full of hurt as Buck's had been, but still... Chris swung his right fist around and knocked the man to the ground, right out of Nathan's grasp. _That's one smirk I can wipe off one face._ He strode away with nary a backward glance. Five sets of eyes drifted back and forth between their two friends who had their backs to each other and distance between them.

"Why would they kill those men?" JD asked as he and Buck joined the others.

"Maybe we'll get some answers, now," Josiah suggested as he cleaned his fingernails with his massive Bowie knife and glared meaningful at their prisoner.

"Any ideas who backed us from up there?" Nathan asked.

"Nothing close in. I could scout further out." Vin offered.

"Not yet." Larabee's voice broke into their conversation. He used the toe of his boot to nudge the man Nathan had killed. "We find out who this one and the other one are, we may get closer to what's goin' on."

"Admirable strategy. If we are able to ascertain what the stakes are before we ride in, it will proportionately increase the odds that we will all be able to ride back out."

"Round up their horses. Load up the bodies." Chris referred to the murdered man. "His family deserves to have him back."

"I am able to assume, then, that we will be returning to what this rustic region of the back country refers to as civilization?" Ezra drawled.

"We'll all go to Sweetwater tonight." Larabee decided.

"Be harder to get answers from him once we get there. Sheriff Turner's right ornery about keepin' his prisoners alive and in the same condition he receives 'em in." Buck observed.

"You want to stay out here? Who was shooting at us? Who was shooting at them? How many men got away from us? How many can they bring back?" Chris demanded.

"Just meant I could take the bodies to Sweetwater. Ya'll could head on home with the prisoner." Chris was surprisingly uncomfortable now that he knew these hunters of men were within his borders. "We ride to Sweetwater." There was no way one of his men would ride alone.

Buck shrugged indifferently. On the trail, he was a little too loud, a little too boisterous as he amused himself at JD's expense. It was almost an act of defiance. A show that Larabee's dark mood didn't touch him.

The seven and their prisoner rode into Sweetwater well after sunset. The bodies had been divided among the horses that were rounded up after the shooting stopped. The street fires sent their long shadows dancing across the buildings' facades. Few lights still burned except for the inevitable beacons of the night, the saloon and the jail.

Chris and JD led their prisoner to the lockup. Buck and Vin led the horses to the livery. Josiah took the bodies to the undertaker. Nathan and Ezra made for the saloon. They would order and have supper waiting when the others arrived. No one seemed to be much in the mood for conversation.

Chris and JD found their way to the saloon after telling their story to Sheriff Turner. Chris entered and stood to one side of the batwing doors; a solid wall to protect his back as he took in the feel, sound and looks of the unfamiliar yet familiar environment. Even though he knew at least three of his men, his friends, were here and had already done the same, he scanned the smoky, loud, gaudy bar for potential danger. JD stood beside him proudly, and tried to see the room as Chris Larabee was seeing it. The youngest of the seven knew it could save his life someday.

A man materialized in front of them. He confronted Chris Larabee by his mere presence; looked him straight in the eye. His face was weatherworn and creased beyond its years. It came across as ruggedly handsome rather than aged; tanned instead of leathery. He had pounds on the deadly shootist, maybe an inch or two. He wore a black hat and bandanna, a bright white shirt buttoned at the neck and a knee coat. His long black hair was pulled back at the nape off his neck. His attire appeared rakish compared to Larabee, but his presence was just as deadly.

If this stranger sensed the other three who now formed a semi-circle at his back, he didn't acknowledge them. The man's eyes flickered to JD. Chris didn't move. JD forced himself to meet the man's deep brown eyes. He resisted the temptation to push his bangs away from his face, as the action would move his hand away from his gun. _Keep yourself ready._ Buck's voice whispered through his mind. Was his face staying as impassive as he hoped?

The dangerous looking man cut his eyes back to JD's taller partner. "Hell, Larabee, never knew you to be in the habit of picking up strays, except for... oh, goddamn... " the man blurted out as Buck entered followed by Vin. "See?" He taunted with undisguised relish, "Once you feed 'em, you can't get rid of 'em."

A hint of a smile threatened Larabee's lips as he took in the source of this man's observation. "Clay." He acknowledged, rather socially.

"How ya been, ya Old Dog?"

"Managin', I reckon."

"And Buck? You still managin' him, too?" The big man circled his arm around Buck's neck and pulled him into a brotherly hug. Buck begrudgingly returned the embrace and smiled.

"This is just what I need," Buck mumbled; forcing a good-natured tone into his voice. A little too abruptly, he brushed aside the heavier man. He grabbed JD by the neck and pulled him along. "You gents come up with supper, yet, or what?" He called to Ezra, Josiah and Nathan.

"I believe we have found a repast at least filling, if not the most palatable, I've enjoyed."

"Well, hell, that sounds good enough to me."


	3. Chapter 3

Chris Larabee introduced Clay Kestrel to the others. He explained that he had run into the old time friend during his last outing in search of Ella Gaines and made plans to meet up in Four Corners. As things worked out, here they were in Sweetwater. When the man shook Ezra's hand, he met the Southerner's eyes with a contact that seemed to try to relay some information. Ezra hid any reaction, but studied the man. He looked familiar. By necessity, Ezra had a good memory for names and faces. He should be able to place this one but couldn't.

Kestrel readily joined them in their meal. He allowed JD to draw out several stories of the time he rode with Larabee and Wilmington. He was a slow, smooth talker, with a subtle, calming, indiscernible accent. The tales were bigger than life and daring. They told of wild, thrill seeking young men that no one could keep up with except each other. Buck never challenged the telling of the stories. Surprisingly, neither did Chris. The yarns and resulting reverie seemed to calm the rift between Chris and Buck. The man seemed like a salve between the two. Larabee felt comfortable with this man; trusted him. And trust was not something Chris gave easily. "Old Dog," Clay nodded to Chris, "Big Dog," he acknowledged Buck who had yet another whiskey in his hand, "and I was War Dog. Damn, those were some wild and wooly days... "

"So, what brings you to these parts, Mr. Kestrel?" Josiah asked.

"Old obligations." The man replied. "Looks like they'll lead me to Four Corners." For all intents and purposes the statement should have seemed meant as a reference to Larabee or Wilmington. But when Kestrel said the words he met Standish directly in the eye, as if speaking to him alone. And again Ezra had the foreboding sense that he should recognize this man. And that he was a threat to everything that he had come to hold important over the last short months.

As the night wore on, Larabee, as was his custom, migrated to an obscured corner table. He allowed Clay Kestrel and Vin to accompany him. Buck was rowdy, boisterous at the bar; holding court for the ladies and helping them tease JD unmercifully.

It was interesting though, that everything Buck did was carefully orchestrated to, in the long run, make his young protégé more comfortable around the fairer sex. Ezra made this observation as he sat across the bar and absently played his hands of poker against competition that required very little of his attention. He watched his fellow law keepers and pondered. What was it in young Mr. Dunne that Mr. Wilmington saw as a ghost of what Larabee used to be? His sense of justice? A willingness to stand up for what was right no matter what the odds? An idealistic belief in the goodness of man? Had that been a part of the now cynical and bitter gunfighter at one time? Did anyone else notice that Buck's protective instincts toward JD were proportional to how much Larabee was resisting acts of friendship? Did Buck? Of course not. And, Ezra was sure, it did nothing to detract from the older man's affection for the boy. If anything, it showed his level of devotion - that he was so willing to risk that kind of rejection again. Not that it would ever happen. JD was devoted to Buck. But had Larabee at one time been so devoted? Even worse, before his family's death, had Buck held JD's role in Chris's life? Ezra shook off the thoughts, took a shot from his glass and tried to convince himself he didn't feel something for Buck and whatever demons he hid behind a quick smile and careless lifestyle. Ezra distanced himself from the emotional turmoil everyone was denying by playing at the poker table. It was a conditioned response.

Josiah and Nathan set at a separate table near Chris's party, but were content to stay to themselves. Buck was drinking more than usual. Nathan tried to remember if he had ever actually seen the man drunk. Tipsy, to be sure, feeling no pain, oh, yeah, but drunk? Nathan couldn't help the feeling of foreboding that crept up his spine.

Vin sat at the table with Chris and Clay. No one spoke. The two time-proven friends seemed at ease with the silence. But where usually Vin would have relaxed in the security of the quiet camaraderie, something was off. Clay had regaled them with tales of young lions living hard and living for adventure. He seemed to wait until Ezra excused himself to the gaming table before he boasted that, had the three of them known each other during the war, they could have single-handedly ended that little skirmish several months earlier. On the surface he reforged the bond of friendship between himself, "Old Dog" and "Big Dog". But subtly, almost too elusive to recognize, and mostly at Buck's expense, he had seemed to hit all of the issues that were working to wedge the two old friends apart. Chris got drunk and more withdrawn. Buck got louder, but, in his own way, he used the rowdiness and mischievousness to keep his world in disarray so he could concentrate on that and he too could withdraw from what might torment him. No, whatever was between those two hadn't dissipated and Kestrel was a master at seeding the storm clouds.

Late in the evening when Vin reluctantly left to answer nature's call, Kestrel staggered over and dragged Buck back to Chris's table. Buck nonchalantly tipped Ezra's hat forward over his brow in passing. It was a playful act that, surprisingly, left a strange feeling of kinship working its way from inside the gambler out. It was a gesture of friendship, of acknowledgment, of presence. Something he would do to JD. Ezra would concede, and only to himself, that it brought an unfamiliar hint of warmth to his soul, to included with that single prankish gesture. Ezra watched Kestrel escort Buck to the back table. He hadn't missed the fact that the tales the elegant gunman wove had been a double-edged sword. He wasn't the only one. He had definitely caught the jaundiced eye the ever-observant tracker had kept on the well-dressed instigator. Instigator? Ezra was surprised how easily that title applied itself to the enigmatic rogue. Ezra wondered if it were a coincidence Kestrel waited until there were no witnesses before he got Buck and Chris together in their condition and after the stories he had told this night. He didn't have to wait long "Why don't you just do the thinkin' for both of us, Pard? Seems that's the only way to keep you from getting' outta sorts nowadays." Buck said it lightly, with a smile, slumped back in his chair and drank some of his beer and whiskey chaser. He masked his body language and facial expression, but couldn't conceal the tension, the loudness, in his voice that enabled Ezra to hear the escalating argument. It was no damn coincidence at all. Ezra didn't like the man. "Good idea." Chris drawled. "Me and the boys're ridin' out come morning. It'll take a couple of days for Sheriff Turner to send out his telegrams. And the guy we brought in could rest a day before he travels. You stay here 'til then. Kestrel'll be through with his business and can help you escort the prisoner to Four Corners." Vin had returned to this conversation. He noted a smug look of amusement on Kestrel's face. Josiah and Nathan had turned to be ready to referee if necessary and JD stood nervously behind Buck. Ezra, another conditioned response, stayed at his table and refused to acknowledge that the tension among his friends effected him. Disgust was plainly written on Buck's face, "Hell, Chris, that's a low blow. I ain't'... " "It's an order, Buck, do it or -" "You don't order me." He interrupted bitterly. "You ask me, as a friend. You tell me it's how things need to be. I work with you because I want to. I don't work for you." The tension previously only in his voice rippled up Buck's body and hardened his features, his blue eyes were suddenly black. "Take it how you want. Just do it." "Chris... " "Stay out of it, Preacher." Josiah raised his hands in surrender. Chris continued, "And I don't need any of those 'holier than thou' looks from you. If you've got something to say, say it." Buck laughed. "Aw, hell, Chris, you're gonna have to do better than that to push Ol' Josiah away. Can't ya at least attack him personally?" Chris and Buck's eyes met in silent, venomous confrontation. _Whoa_ Ezra thought to himself with a start. _What was that?_ Quicker than lightning a look had passed between the two old friends. That had been a reference to something old and scabbed over but not healed; something only Buck and Chris shared... except… Kestrel was enjoying this. Vin threw a look over at Ezra that was almost an appeal. He had seen it, too. The man was manipulative and malicious. Chris and Buck didn't play that way; didn't know when they were being played. Without a word Ezra folded his hand and moved to the back table. He already knew he would be too late. "Mr. Larabee," Ezra tried to maneuver himself between the two volatile gunmen. Chris shoved him back and, never raising his voice, he left his table to confront Buck face to face. "No one asked you to put up with shit. In fact, I've asked you not to. How many times do I have to ask you to get the hell out?" Buck recognized the stage. There were levels of intoxication - handsome, witty, bulletproof and invisible. But for Larabee, between bulletproof and invisible, there came mean-drunk. JD moved forward, "Chris, you don't mean that... " "And you, you little runt... " "Chris, don't." "Haven't you seen enough to know you don't belong here?" JD faltered as if he'd been hit. Then a form blocked his view. Buck was almost chest to chest with Larabee. "It's the whiskey talkin', Son." His voice pleaded with JD to believe him. Buck leaned over and hissed only for Chris's ear. "I know you feel yourself gettin' attached, setting down roots. You think you're forgettin' Sarah and Adam's faces. You ain't. You can have both. Don't run this time, Chris. Don't push these men away. You're in a good place here. You don't want to leave. I don't want to leave." The others watched. They couldn't hear what Buck said, so they waited. Larabee swayed, listened, then his face reddened, warped with hostility and he swung. Buck staggered back with the impact of the punch, but it wasn't enough to drop him. Buck watched his dear friend reel backwards and support himself on the table. "Go to hell! Get the hell out. Get out!" "Chris... " Vin tempered. But the damage was done. "I can show you how that's done." Buck's voice was ominously void of emotion. There was defeat on Buck's face; more the trying to hide it than showing it. His watery blue eyes found a spot on the sawdust covered floor and froze there as his head sort of nodded a couple of times, his hands came up in surrender, and he backed up several steps. JD tried to comfort this man, the one he had chosen to help him find his path in the ways of the West. Buck brushed him aside as if he wasn't even aware of him. The lanky gunfighter turned to the batwing doors as if to leave. Instead, he stalked back inside, grabbed another bottle and one of the working girls with a yelp and moved to a far table. "Damn it, Buck, why can't you just leave it?" Chris muttered to himself. "Chris... " "Stay out of this, Boy." Kestrel's voice was threatening as he addressed Vin. "It don't concern you." "You sure about that, Brother?" Josiah's hushed tones were more powerful than the earlier shouts; more threatening than Kestrel could hope to be. His barely perceptible nod toward JD was for Chris's benefit. JD was watching a dream fray at the edges. There was silence within the group. The few of the bar's clientele who had been drawn to the altercation had lost interest when no guns were drawn. Finally, just as JD started to move toward Buck, Vin broke the silence, "Did you see that bird today, JD?" JD didn't understand the why of the question. He looked confused. He thought Vin might be trying to distract him. "A dove, wasn't it, Mr. Tanner?" Ezra volunteered. "I thought it had a broken wing." JD finally recalled, "The way if flopped around. But then it took right off." "She was comin' off her nest. Momma dove'll put up a big to-do to make herself look like an easy target to lead danger away from the nest - to protect those under her care from what could hurt them." Vin was looking Chris directly in the eye now, and by force of will denied the dark gunslinger the option of looking away. "So that's when she flew off? When we were far enough from the nest?" JD was curious now, learning something new from one of his heroes. "Sometimes, I would think," Ezra spoke up, seeing the analogy, "she miscalculates and is herself destroyed by the predator that threatened her family." His eyes slid to Buck. Chris finally tore his eyes from Vin, and followed Ezra's gaze. Then he threw each of them a paralyzing glare and stalk over to his enshrouded back table. By the time they were able to move again, it was clear none of them would be welcome there. JD had a confused, 'what just happened here?', look on his face. Josiah steered him to the table he shared with Nathan. Vin accompanied them. Clay was left alone. Ezra studied the man. His guileful ability to manipulate people seemed even more familiar than his face. Ezra almost had it.


	4. Chapter 4

Buck avoided all eye contact with his friends as he ushered his latest ladylove toward the exit and the darkness beyond. He had a bottle in one hand, her waist in his other and was focusing on how her hair smelled like lilacs to the exclusion of any other thoughts. One of the ways in which he was like Ezra was that he, too, had his own set of conditioned responses. JD watched Buck leave. He peeked at Chris who ignored his old friend and drank even harder. Nathan, Josiah, Vin and Ezra seemed to think it wasn't their place to see about the seventh member of their party. _To hell with that._ The youngest member thought defiantly, and bounded after his mentor before the others could stop him. Buck and the auburn-haired vixen he'd chosen for the night staggered down the middle of the street. Buck whispered words to her and she smiled sweetly. This man's words didn't require the ribald laughter that most men interpreted as arousal. His smile took her away to more innocent times. "Buck! Buck, wait up." She saw his face scrunch up in a grimace, but he turned back to the boy that was running up to them. "Are you all right?" The dark-haired youth asked. The fiery beauty on the tall rascal's arm reflected that it would almost be amusing, this naïve child questioning the hardened gunslinger, except that the concern was so genuine, and by the look on the older man's face, so appreciated. "I will be, Kid, soon as Miss Hannah and I can get some time to ourselves." "You need to go back in and get things straight with Chris." "Ain't that easy." "Just tell him you were thinkin' about him - worried." "That's not... " "That's what you'd do with me." "That's different." "Why? Because I'd fall for it and Chris knows better?" "What the hell does that mean?" Buck was trying to sober up now. Why was the boy so upset? "What the hell's eatin' you, Kid?" "Don't fight my battles for me. Not if it puts you at odds with Chris." "Things change, Kid." Damn did he say that out loud? "Not if you two will start acting like adults and talk out your differences. He's your friend." "You're my friend, JD." "I won't let you make me the reason you two can't get along." "I wouldn't do that. But it's stuff you need to stay out of the way of." "Why? Because I can't think for myself? Decide who's right and who's wrong? That sounds like something Chris would say to you. Maybe you deserve it, but I don't." Hannah suddenly felt the entire makeup of the man beside her shift. He leaned on her heavily and stared at the young man in front of them. "I don't need this shit from you just now, Kid." He didn't mean to sound as harsh as he did. "You sayin' Chris is right...?" "... Ain't he always? Far as you're concerned?" "Maybe we do need some distance." JD, devastated, thought his best friend was pushing him away. Buck heard Chris's rejection in his youngest partner's every word. And in Buck's mind he finally gave up trying, and became what he heard them accuse him of being. Buck turned and held on to his lady. She couldn't get that close, she couldn't hurt him this way. He held her as if she were an anchor; that otherwise he would be washed away. Hannah watched the handsome cowboy beside her close his eyes; drained. She couldn't make out exactly what he said, but it was something like, "God, JD, you could turn out just like him if I'm not careful. You sound so like him... " The courtesan decided the words weren't meant for her and weren't healthy for this man she was beginning to like more than her role called for. She kissed him gently to shut off the words. He immediately sought comfort in her arms and her lips. Hannah let Buck pull her hair on top of her head and kiss her neck as she glanced at the clueless boy-child with a mixture of contempt and sympathy. JD watched Buck turn away from him and his fears; ignore the fact that he was waiting patiently for the overprotective big brother he loved so much to put an arm around his shoulder, or grapple him by the neck, or throw his hat to the ground... to tell him everything was going to be okay. When it didn't happen, a dejected young man made his way back to the noise of the saloon. He didn't know what else to do. + + + + + + + Ezra had forsaken the temptations of the poker tables for the rest of the night to sit with Vin, Josiah and Nathan and watch things progress. "Chris and Buck have been at odds for days. Since before Nettie's. I didn't even see it comin'." Nathan confided. "I suspect, neither did they." "It's probably a cycle of their friendship none of us have been privy to before." Josiah offered. "Which leads me to believe I may have been wise to avoid such entanglements in the past." "Buck ridin' hell bent for leather after those two today didn't help smooth things over." "Thinking back on it, we would have all ridden into a potentially deadly ambush if Buck hadn't given us time to see that those men reacted as if they had the upper hand." "Unfortunately, that serendipitous outcome does not annul Buck's negligent recklessness... " Ezra mused, not looking up from the cards he manipulated in his hands. "Buck's wound too tight. They both are. But Buck's comes out so... so ... " "Self-destructive?" "And breakin' cover today... " "Damn, Chris was mad." "I believe Mr. Larabee was afraid for Mr. Wilmington. Our Mr. Larabee is uncomfortable with the gentler and more vulnerable emotions. They all come out as anger." Josiah blinked owlishly at Ezra's insight. "I'll take that as coming from the expert." He smiled. Ezra was able to hold his poker face long enough to raise a sardonic eyebrow at the preacher. Then he used the excuse of concentrating on his card shuffling to look away. Vin was surprised when he saw Clay dared migrate in their direction. "This Kestrel guy doesn't seem to be making things any better." He reflected. Ezra raised his eyes to take in the saloon and watch suspiciously as Kestrel walked up to the table. Josiah filled Nathan's shot glass with whiskey, dropped it to the bottom of his beer mug and chugged the resulting concoction. "You're not welcome, here." Vin stated matter-of-factly. Kestrel ignored him and turned to Ezra. "Haven't figured out where you know me from, yet, have you. E.Z?" Ezra choked on his brandy. His chair scraped loudly as it ground across the floor and away from the table. He was almost to his feet when he regained some control. Too late, he tried to make the move look as natural, as relaxed, as possible and covered it by a trip to the bar for another bottle. It apparently didn't influence him that the bottle already there was almost full. Josiah watched the trip; watched the body language he had become used to evaluating as their only way to judge Ezra. Nathan didn't consider the body language. He wanted straight forward. He didn't like it when he had to read people. He had to read Ezra. He had to read Chris. Lately he'd realized he had to read Buck. He was tired of it. Vin stood up and faced Clay Kestrel. He wasn't nearly as tall or as big as the man, but readily defied the slick drifter to start something. He might be smaller, he might allow himself a more temperate disposition around these men who had earned his trust and respect, but he had hunted men, faced them down and killed to protect what needed protecting. Vin was beginning to believe they all needed protecting from Clay Kestrel. "I said get the hell away from us." Clay laughed as if he found such protectiveness amusing and wandered off a couple of feet to lean against the bar. Ezra took full advantage of his trip to the bar. By the time he returned, no one could prove there had been anything to his earlier reaction. He didn't speak. He continued to drink. He wouldn't look over toward Kestrel. But he wouldn't meet the eyes of his friends, either. Kestrel watched and waited. He knew what was coming. He knew how to read men. "Easy?" Nathan observed with a touch of humor, trying to make conversation. "I'd have to be told how you came by a nickname like that." A cloud of memory that had wafted across Ezra's face began to build like thunderheads. He took another shot. "It was at Elmira." He ignored JD who slammed back into the bar after his confrontation with Buck and stormed over to his friends' table. Vin, Nathan and Josiah gasped. JD was brought up short as he tried to scrounge his memory for the name. Then his eyes widened as he had it. Elmira - a Union Andersonville. After the prisoner exchanges of the Civil War were halted, the facilities became vastly inadequate. The structures at this particular Prisoner of War camp were meant to support only ½ of its 10,000 prisoners. The rest were forced to try to survive in tents. It was winter. New York. The death rate averaged 5% per month. Most of the prisoners were sick. One tenth of the prisoners had no blankets. The food, when available, was usually spoiled. "It was a short incarceration," Ezra muttered, as if to minimize what he'd been through. "Only enlisted men were held there, Ezra. I don't see you as a... " "It was after the 'Cartels of Exchange' ended, Mr. Jackson. The choice between being hanged as an alleged spy or being transported to New York as a drone was not a difficult one." _At the time._ Josiah heard the rest of the statement even if it wasn't out loud. _If he had known the truth did Ezra truly believe he might have chosen the rope?_ Josiah bowed his head. "Ol' E.Z. got attached to a lad ... " Kestrel laughed from the bar. "Wasn't really much difference in their ages, really, but E.Z. acted older." Ezra froze. "Kestrel... " Josiah whispered the name as a threat. Kestrel ignored him. "Where was he from? Must've been interior Georgia. Wasn't learned. Didn't know his letters. And sick... the boy couldn't get off that scraggly blanket you scrounged for 'm." "Mr. Kestrel!" It was as close to a plea as could come from Ezra. "They're your friends, E.Z." Kestrel seemed to enjoy his discomfort. Josiah regretted later that he didn't tell the man to stop, but thought at the time they should hear; should get this insight into the gambler's former life; and to show him that they were still his friends no matter what. "E.Z. started teachin' the boy letters. He'd use his finger to write them in the dirt beside the blanket." Ezra's finger, of its own accord, was making motions on the table top. "Finally, Ezra wrote out his own name." Kestrel laughed. "Told the boy to sound it out. Figure out the word. Well, his drawl was so bad, he read it as E.Z.R.-h. Get it? Easier? EZRa. Easierah ... Hell, I can't even say it the way the Rebs do. Say it, E.Z." "It was a distraction for the ailin' youth, as well as myself." Ezra tried to rationalize the act of kindness. "So Ezra became EZRah then E.Z." "Did he learn to read?" JD asked. "He died." Ezra stated without emotion. "I thought sometimes the ones who died were the lucky ones." Kestrel volunteered. "Ezra, you... " JD sounded as if he wanted to apologize for something. "You were also a prisoner there, Mr. Kestrel?" Nathan asked. He ignored the question, reliving the times in his mind. "E.Z. learned, though, oh, he was a quick learner. Saw that the guards ignored the ones who were sick or acted ignorant. He started acting just like that uneducated loser." He saw the look in Nathan's eye. _He had taken advantage of a dying boy?_ "And it worked. Didn't pay much attention to him. Not enough. E.Z. led an escape. Thirty-seven men made it out before the others were stopped. Twenty-five men made it clear. They were only able to retake and hang three of 'em. How many Union soldiers died in that breakout?" For the first time there was a hint of festering anger in his voice. But then it was gone. "And afterwards? Trying to round you up? That ol' colonel? You scarred him for life. He hated you, E.Z. Reckon he still does?" Kestrel looked him in the eye again. A smoldering something the usually perceptive gambler couldn't or didn't want to identify was there, just below the surface. "How do you know all that, Mr. Kestrel?" Josiah repeated the question in a tone that demanded an answer. Kestrel didn't reply but had that enigmatic smirk on his face. "He was one of the guards at Elmira." Ezra answered in a cowed voice. He had finally recognized where he knew Kestrel from. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me?" Ezra stepped drunkenly out of the bar. When Kestrel made to follow him, both Vin and Josiah blocked the path. "No hard feelings, E.Z." The self-styled adventurer called to the retreating back. JD and Nathan stared at Kestrel. There was shocked silence. Everyone knew the atrocities and hardships inflicted on prisoners. How could this man so callously reminisce about those times? "Kestrel, I don't know what business you got in Four Corners, I don't know what history you got with Chris and Buck in spite of all your talk and stories, but I know that business better never start the kind of grief I seen you dishin' out tonight. Do you understand?" Vin moved closer to Kestrel with each word. The bounty hunter, the taker of lives, the damaged soul raised by his tribe only to have them murdered, stood before this man. There was no hint of the gentle spirit that had emerged since his stay in Four Corners. Kestrel looked from Josiah to Vin to finally Nathan. Even the healer seemed to agree with the ultimatum. _The boy, he's just grateful some of these so-called "Magnificent Seven" are finally standing up for each other._ Kestrel never let the disgust reach his face. He laughed and walked back to the bar. Josiah watched Clay Kestrel dribble whiskey down the front of one of the working girl's neck then lick it off her chest and cleavage. All night the man's words, on the surface, had been good-natured, his carriage affable. So why was Chris drowning himself in self-blame faster than the whiskey he was consuming? Why had Buck disappeared to lick his wounds and Ezra tried once again to outrun his past? Why did they think they had to fight their demons without the support of the others? Did they think they could? He sighed as he turned his winter-ice eyes first to Nathan then to JD. Nathan was staring unseeingly into the amber liquid of his glass. JD was trying to deaden his emotions in the drink as his hero did. They were fighting demons, too. How had Kestrel done it without saying a single inflammatory word that they could call him on? Well, Buck and Ezra were out of his sphere of influence for the night. Vin would see to Chris. The best way to distract Nathan from his ghosts was give him someone to worry about. With a whispered word of concern, Josiah had Nathan's help to steer a drunken, frightened, depressed JD toward the boarding house. He fought and argued with the larger men as much as his size and condition would allow. "Gotta find Buck, tell him I'm sorry... I said... he said I sounded like Chris." "You can talk to Buck in the morning, Son." "I don't want to sound like Chris when I talk to Buck. Okay, Josiah?" He passed out and would have fallen if not for the brotherly arms that supported him. Vin and Josiah exchanged poignant smiles as they each turned to their separate charges. Vin knew sleep would be a long time coming for him tonight, just as he knew Josiah and Nathan would have a restful sleep. The two had some kind of inner peace. They could sleep because they knew they would need that sleep later; that fretting over things didn't make them go away. Vin used to be that way, he mused; before he had so much to lose. He knew how important their friends and the like in Four Corners were to the other two, but somehow they could still attain a dreamless rest. It was the kind of rest Vin used to associate with not having any commitments such as friends, brothers, responsibility. He was aware when that brigand Kestrel left for the night, and sighed with relief. Lost in his thoughts, not sharing a table with Chris, but watching over him, he didn't realize how much time had passed. But then, in the wee hours of the morning, there was Buck. They alone shared the bar with Chris. And they sat at the far end from him allowing the man in black his solitude. The bartender was gone. He'd left his key and the responsibility of locking up with Buck, not willing to be the one to tell Chris Larabee he needed to leave. He knew the man's reputation. "Buck." "Don't wanna talk, Vin." Vin tried to get the sinewy ladies' man out of his beer mug, "We need to get him up to his room" "Be my guest." "What's that mean? He's your friend. What's going on the you two?" Vin misinterpreted Buck's sardonic laugh. He shoved his chair back rougher than necessary and started to rise. A vise like grip on his wrist stopped him and redirected his attention. He looked down, ready to jerk away. But something in those eyes stopped him. Buck's face showed a tiredness, some kind of resignation, but the eyes, - the eyes still cared. The contradictions gave him pause. "Not yet" Buck offered. "He's had a full bottle." "The memories? The mood, the whiskey, they swirl around different every time. Sometimes half a bottle puts him under, this time, the full effects of that one're gonna have to hit him before... " "Before what? He's passed out sitting up." "You go over there now, Pard, he'll punch you out. I know you think Larabee'd never hit ya, but he'll drop you to the floor." It was not a threat, not an accusation, but emotionless words wrapped around an unwanted memory. Vin took a step toward his friend's table. Buck made no second move to stop him. But he stopped himself. Buck was so sure of his words. It had been Buck who didn't think Chris would hit him that day so long ago, hadn't it? Vin walked back and sat beside the lanky gunman. The chance he didn't want to take was that Larabee didn't hit him and Buck would have to again question his friendship with the man in black. "What's goin' on, Buck?" "Like he said, a few days here... a little distance between us... Sometimes you have to... I will save this friendship." "By separatin'?" Vin pushed. "It's worked before. I thought." "There are others to consider this time." "Maybe I am." "Buck... I don't like you ridin' with this Kestrel character. Give me your take on him. You're history... " He was interrupted, "Vin." Vin focused his attention back to Buck who lifted his chin in the direction of Chris's table. Vin followed his gaze. "See how his chin's down to his chest?" Vin nodded. "Now watch. See? His head moves up ever so - like a fishing cork bobbin' in a creek." _I'll be damned._ Vin thought. _You'd have to be looking to see it._ He hadn't even been able to tell Buck was watching their despondent friend. "He's tryin' to get himself together enough to get up. Now, go. He'll let you help him get home." "Me?" Buck drained his shot glass and walked toward the back of the saloon. "I've got to start locking up." Several different emotions swirled around as Vin steered Chris out of his chair and out the doors. And questions. What was the friction between Chris and Buck this time? Why did it feel different than the other times? Buck, grateful for Vin's calming influence on Chris, made sure the Texan could handle their friend before he locked up the bar and headed to the boarding house himself. Neither of them noticed Ezra in the darkness as the street fires had dwindled. The Southern gentleman watched the others turn in for the night. He contemplated the reddish glowing embers of his cigar. What a group he'd thrown his lot with. So strong and yet so vulnerable. "E.Z." Ezra spun at the name and the voice. He wanted so badly to shoot this man. Kestrel stood there with three others. These men wore shreds of Confederate gray. Kestrel put his hands up in a position of surrender. "We need to talk." "You need to go to hell." "Why didn't you tell Larabee I had been a guard at Elmira?" "I didn't recognize you at first. By the time you identified yourself, it was already clear you were a close confidant to our illustrious leader. I personally believe, sir, that you should be skinned with a potato peeler, covered with honey and buried in a red ant mound. I'm afraid that my alliance with Mr. Larabee is not one that could endure such a disparity in our points of view." "What are you doing running with the likes of Larabee?" "I have yet to examine all the facets of that question myself." "I've got a job for you." Ezra stared dumbfounded and not caring that the emotion showed. Then he laughed uproarishly. "What would I, what could I, possibly do for you? And why?" "It's not just for me. It's for a lot of people. And it will get me out of Four Corners and away from your friends all the faster." Ezra remembered the man now, in detail. Did he look that much different, or had Ezra just blocked that out of his mind? Kestrel had been notorious for vicious whisper campaigns at Elmira. He could make enemies out of the best comrades-in-arms. With just a slight, well-placed word he could breed mistrust like maggots where no mistrust should have been. This gave Ezra knew insight into the problems between Chris and Buck. Friction had already been there. Kestrel could fan it into hatred if he tried. Would he? Could Ezra take that chance? Ezra thought back to the events of the day, how Clay Kestrel seemed able to take a precarious situation between two old time friends and send it spiraling into a calamitous freefall. He had done it to amuse himself. Now, suddenly, Ezra realized he might have also done it to show him how much damage could be done. "What do you want?" 


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the ride to Four Corners was spent in comfortable familiarity. They were all still aware of the rift between Chris and Buck, Chris's standoffishness and that JD would make himself sick worrying over it, but any other erosion initiated by Kestrel had been avoided. Vin was beside Chris as they rode into town. Josiah and JD followed Ezra and Nathan.

Josiah peeled off toward the Clarion. He knew a ripple went through the town anytime they rode in less than seven, less than whole. He would make a few stops - Mrs. Travis, the Mercantile, and the hotel; to explain that all was well.

Ezra had been touched by Nathan's attempt to remove the distance that their varying pasts presented and had gone into con artist mode to be cordial. He hated using his talents to conceal from the dark healer his true emotional state, but he figured the ends justified the means. It had been a hard pretense to maintain in light of what he anticipated the next few days would require of him; one he thought he couldn't maintain any longer. To that end he planned to head straight to his poker table and isolate himself from those who could possibly see through any crack in the façade. But then he saw Chris enter the hotel's restaurant.

Ezra pushed himself into the restaurant and forced himself forward toward their oppressive leader. Snippets of thought _Let's get it over with_ and _By God, I will do this sober_ interfused themselves with the words he was trying to put together for this confrontation. Larabee, although he had a beer with his meal, had a bottle of Red Eye on the table nearby.

Chris rubbed his tired eyes. He was surprised to find Ezra standing over him. He made no offer for the man to sit. Finally, Ezra took a seat anyway. They sat in silence for a long time. The cunning gambler used the motion of flicking imaginary lint from his sleeve to check out the rest of the room. He saw Union blue in among the clothing of what he would otherwise have assumed to be ranch hands or drifters. Ezra took a deep breath and finally a drink. The air around the southern gambler made Larabee look at him. "Mr. Larabee, it seems a darker part of my past has caught up with me.

"You bring it on yourself?"

"As it is the victorious who will write the history books, I submit that question has yet to be answered."

"Don't bring it here."

"To that end, I must excuse myself from our small community to resolve the matter."

"It'll have to wait. Too much going on for you to leave."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Men around the countryside killing innocent people and you're running out?"

"I sincerely believe I can do more good on my anticipated mission."

"Justify it how you want. You'll be running out when we need you."

The gambler rankled at the accusation. He'd heard it or sensed it from the brooding gunfighter too many times. "Other than my one indiscretion when we first met, have I ever given you cause to doubt my dedication to this vocation?"

"Standish, every time you open your mouth, every time you work a scam that dances the line between right and wrong, I expect you to cross over. Guess this time you just see it as in your best interest to finally cut and run."

"And it would surprise you that perhaps I am looking out for the best interest of our small cadre?"

"You're cuttin' out on us when we need you. Brazen enough to think you can convince me it's for the best. Am I supposed to be surprised?"

"As long as you demand the best yet expect the worst from everyone? No." Ezra passed up the shot glass to drink from the bottle and drink until he had to catch his breath. Vin walked up in time to see this, "Ezra, what... ?"

Ezra was furious with this sanctimonious, self-imposed outcast. He needed time to think - to decide if it was worth getting himself killed to voice just how disgusted he had become. He pushed away from Tanner only to be caught in Josiah's firm grasp and forced back into the seat. "Not yet, Ezra. I want to run this past the group." Ezra struggled to stand, but was no match for Josiah's firm grip. Vin watched with a frown, trying to decipher the body language and moods around him. Chris didn't look up from his beer.

Vin noticed Nathan and JD were with Josiah and something was up. "I've had Nathan and JD with me going over the newspaper articles and teletypes that are available in regard to these various killings." The gentle giant began.

"We couldn't find a common denominator for the men who were killed, but I think Josiah found a link in their cause of death."

That got everyone's attention. "Assuming multiple bullet wounds to the chest could represent a firing squad, all of these men, 27 strangers, have met their ends in a manner associated with executions - hangings, firing squads, flogging... " Josiah offered his theory and waited for a response.

Nathan's voice was withdrawn. "Descriptions have most of them strong men when they disappeared. That man we found was emaciated."

"Several of the men wore guns and knew how to use them. They wouldn't have been easy targets." Vin offered.

There was another silence at the table. The young gambler couldn't believe the way he was letting his current hand play out. He forced his body to stay relaxed, he shuttered his clover-green eyes. He struggled to maintain the illusion that he was interested in the conversation but had no insight beyond his fellow peacekeeper's current hypothesis. There were too many eyes, too many ears, too much at stake.

"We were assuming robbery or greed motivated the disappearances. Execution would suggest revenge." It was Chris.

"The body we found? Looks like he'd been tortured before he died." There had been a feeling at the table that had Nathan hesitant to say this. JD suddenly had to fight to breathe. Then the healer knew the source of the apprehension had been the boy. His eyes were like black onyx against a now pasty white skin.

"JD?" Nathan's tone was of concern.

JD shook his head dismissively, but the physical symptoms of fear remained. His eyes fell to hide his reaction.

"JD!" Chris this time. The tone was unmistakable. _Tell me what's bothering you. Tell me now. Tell me all of it._ _J_ D could not say no to his idol. In fact his voice pled for reassurance.

"You can't let Buck stay out with those men... "

"He'll be back tomorrow." Larabee didn't mean for it to sound so impatient.

"So you ain't gonna ask Buck to leave?" Chris was stunned. Where the hell did that come from? JD couldn't read all the emotion that flickered across the older man's face.

"JD, this is Buck's home." Vin stated when Chris didn't respond fast enough.

"It's all of our homes, son. That's what makes it home."

The damn had burst. All of the guilt the youngster had been holding in flooded forth. "It was me not thinkin' what got you and Buck at odds back at Nettie's. Then the stupid hat. Then he's all worryin' 'bout you two havin' words and I jump on him."

"JD."

JD's eyes fell. "Buck ain't gonna let nothin' come between you two, Chris. When I keep causin' trouble, he'll get fed up... and then that Kestrel said... "

"JD." This time the tone said 'shut up and listen'. More gently, Chris continued, "Buck knows better than to listen to Kestrel."

"He's listening." JD whispered. Ezra reflected that the boy must have seen such hurt in his protector's eyes at Kestrel's words. Because that hurt was reflected through his own eyes and tone of voice. An often hidden part of the con man was on a slow boil. He had been stifled in his earlier confrontation with Larabee and it simmered as he saw how blind the man was to how he affected those around him.

"I'll just have to knock a little sense into Buck's head."

"You think that will make things better?" Ezra purred.

"Likely to make me feel a damn site better."

"May I propose that has been the problem all along? You and Mr. Wilmington are both worrying about what will make Chris Larabee feel better. When was the last time you considered Mr. Wilmington's best interest?"

"Shut up, Ezra." Vin warned for his friend's own protection.

"I can't help but wonder, Mr. Larabee, you seem to hold such great stock in loyalty; abhorrence at the thought of someone 'running out' on you. I submit that you have abandoned a soul whose loyalty the likes of which may never come your way again." Ezra had seen that Buck defended who couldn't defend themselves, even if they didn't know it. Even if it was Larabee. He even defended them from themselves. He decided his last great act of defiance would be to defend the defender. What the hell? He'd probably be dead by this time tomorrow, anyway. "Betrayal? Abandonment? Physical and emotional, Mr. Larabee? Who is the most guilty?"

"Standish, you're trying to talk about a lot of things you don't know nothin' about."

"If you refer to your and Mr. Wilmington's past, I agree. But I do have a frame of reference. I submit that every time you turn your back when you can't settle something with your gun, that is betrayal. You turned your back and walked away when Buck took up Don Pablo's sword. Did you think he didn't see? You turned your back and walked away when the Marshal would have taken our guns. You left him in jail - a butt of your joke rather than a good bye - and then to leave town? You expected to be able to stick a straight edge to his throat and still ask him to go against 8 to one odds?"

"Get the hell out."

"Concerned that I might open the eyes of your new best friend? One that hasn't yet put these observations together? To see the bastard Buck had to put up with all these years?"

Chris stood, slowly. He was ready to draw on the sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch in front of him. And Ezra had worked himself up to the point he wanted the confrontation as well. JD started to move forward. Josiah held him back. Any movement could upset this delicate balance, or he would knock some reasoning into these two himself.

Ezra felt the Union soldiers' eyes on him. In a flash he remembered what was at stake; what would happen if he got himself incapacitated or killed in this moment. Finally, Ezra stood down from his ready position. It was a slight change in body language, but made it clear that he would not finish this here, now. "As I told you, Mr. Larabee, I have other pressing obligations. They are, at present, more important than the final culmination of our escalating hostility. Perhaps we will get this opportunity again someday. Until then I defy you, Mr. Larabee, identify this thing you cannot fight with a gun, and challenge it." With a touch to his hat, he was out of the bar.

JD was in shock at what had just passed. Josiah, Nathan and Vin stared at Chris. Chris took several deep breaths to compose himself. When he spoke, it was to Josiah, "Get some teletypes out. See if your execution theory holds in the other towns. See if it gives us anything on what these men had in common they had to die for." Then he strode out the door, his duster whipped around his legs when the wind caught it. The air of indifference he used to conceal his buffeted emotions would have done Ezra proud.

Vin silently moved to the window. Where Ezra had headed toward the saloon, the spectral form of Larabee glided toward the livery. A slight nod from Josiah as he stood spoke volumes. Nathan would stay and tend to JD. Josiah would look for Ezra. Vin followed Chris.


	6. Chapter 6

Chris checked Buck's dapple gray, made sure she was healed, gave her a carrot and some alfalfa for the late season cold front that threatened to come in on the gusty wind. He could tell JD had checked on her, too. And Vin.

As if on cue the stealthy tracker appeared next to him. He scratched Paladin under the chin. The mare extended her neck to encourage the action.

"How's Buck's horse?" s _mall talk? From Vin? Great. Just what I need._

"Fine. Good. Misses him, I think." S _mall talk? From me? Great. Just what I need._

"Wanna talk?"

"Don't push, Vin. Buck pushes."

"Ya ain't gonna rile me, Cowboy."

Reticent, too long fighting to be alone, he couldn't find the words. Betrayal. He thought. _You turned your back._ Chris began to absently brush Paladin. Was I supposed to support Buck those times? He hadn't been thinking, hadn't... hadn't done things the way I wanted them done. Well, one thing about Buck, he never let me make his decisions for him... even about our friendship. He thought about that. Buck is my friend because we have been friends and he didn't want to give that up. When was the last time I earned that friendship? When was the last time I deserved that loyalty? From any of them? This brought his hazel eyes to Vin's.

Enough time had passed that Vin had thought there was no answer coming, but then, in a slightly amused, self-depreciating tone, his friend, murmured, "Ezra pegged me pretty good tonight."

"Ezra's seeing things through his eyes. His fears, his regrets. Don't mean everyone sees things his way. Don't mean Buck does. Don't mean I do." The silence was more comfortable now. It didn't take much for them to get back on track. "What about this Kestrel fella?" Vin continued.

"He stirs the pot for fun sometimes. Never seen anything spiteful in it."

"Buck feel the same way?"

"They butt heads some." What had Clay said? He wanted some time to set things right with Buck? Damn. To make him ride with Kestrel. But their old time friend had made it sound so sensible. It didn't help that he'd been so angry. First he wouldn't split the group of men then the next thing he knew he'd left hotheaded, barely in control Buck with Clay to transport one of the men. His anger let him make another mistake. Like all the mistakes Ezra had thrown in his face to get him boiling. "Maybe we'll head back to Sweetwater. Handle the prisoner transfer ourselves. For JD."

Vin smiled knowingly and nodded his approval. "For JD."

Vin convinced Chris to turn in. Nathan convinced JD everything would be all right and to turn in as well. Nathan, Vin and Josiah spent most of the night looking for Ezra. They never found him.

Vin walked into the bar. He had to let his eyes adjust to the darkness that contrasted the bright morning sunlight. He recognized Chris, Josiah and Nathan at breakfast and joined them. Chris poured an extra cup of coffee at his approach. Vin didn't take it. "The prisoner's in the cell."

Chris's head snapped up to meet his best friend's eyes. _What the hell happened to the telegram?_

Vin let the other boot drop, "Buck's gray's gone." He tried to keep his voice nonjudgmental but there was a tremor of emotion in it. And he was glad to see a whisper of concern flicker over Chris's face.

Chris glanced up at him then back to his coffee. Without a word he pushed back from the table and left. On the street he looked to see if Paladin was tied to any of the hitching posts. Vin followed him to the boarding house and Buck's room.

Nathan stayed in his seat. In the back of his mind, he determined it would be rather silly for three grown men to follow another grown, quite capable man to look for yet a fifth highly capable man. He could wait here and get any news when they returned. Josiah had stayed, too. But the look on his face indicated a more serious thought process. "Josiah?"

"Remember how Chris was acting when he came back from his search for Ella or those bushwackers?" Nathan nodded. "Did you catch it in Sweetwater, he said he had run into Kestrel during that trip?"

"You think that man's been playing some game for that long?" The look Josiah gave him asked the question right back at him. They stood as one and followed after their friends. Something Nathan had tried to rationalize away now told him there was too much to lose and they should meet this together and fight it together.

The door to Buck's room was partly ajar. Chris pushed it further open. JD sat on the bed. He looked lost and deserted. The dresser drawers were partially opened and empty. Molly squatted in front of JD, tried to get his attention, get him to listen, to understand. "JD, please, Buck didn't want you to be like this. He said it was best you stayed with Chris and the others. Said they could take better care of you... "

"I don't need takin' care of!"

"No, he just meant... "

"He couldn't even say goodbye?" JD couldn't help it. It hurt. It had hurt when his mother passed, and he missed her and wondered what he had done wrong to make God so angry that he took her and he wondered if he could have done more to make things right. But his mother hadn't wanted to leave him. She had died. Buck just made the decision he didn't want to be around him anymore. And it hurt even more, because he knew what he had done and said had caused it and he could never fix it. Men weren't supposed to let people know they cared. They sure weren't supposed to show it. He knew that from reading his dime novels - and by watching his heroes. But what was he ever going to do to make this feeling, this regret go away?

Molly saw the men at the door. "Mr. Larabee?" It was a plea. She hoped he could find words to reach the boy. JD looked up and confirmed that Chris stood in the door. "He's gone." He whispered as if hoping someone would tell him it was a mistake.

Chris's eyes were black. The muscles in his jaw twitched. He turned to leave without a word or acknowledgement to anyone. There was no hostility in Vin's body as he blocked the retreat. "Ain't smart you ridin' alone, either."

Right now Chris just wanted some course of action to keep his mind busy and push back the chaotic thoughts.

"Safety in numbers, Brother." Josiah offered. Larabee looked over and Josiah nodded toward JD, devastated, on the bed. Good old Josiah, always a calming steam of thought to follow out of the rapids.

"JD, Josiah, get Ezra and get the horses ready. Nathan and I'll see if anyone knows what direction he took off in. Vin, talk to the livery boys then follow up on what they tell you.

An hour later, Larabee and Jackson strode toward the stables. They had had no luck. Townspeople gave them a wide berth.

 _Gone. Just like that. Hell, driving me insane. Why do I care that he's gone?_ That the thought even crossed his mind brought forth more anger from the dangerous gunslinger and he directed it at himself until he saw a better outlet for his wrath leave the restaurant, "Kestrel!" He picked up his pace to enjoin the confrontation. Kestrel stopped, pushed his hat back off his forehead, smiled and waited.

"When did you get in?"

"'Bout sunrise."

Chris cursed under his breath. "I told you to wire... "

"I don't work for you." His words echoed Buck's angry words earlier.

"Did you see Buck leave?"

"Oh, hell, yeah. He changed horses and was gone."

Vin and the others, leading their ponies, arrived as Chris grabbed the arrogant brigand by the collar of his shirt and threw him against the wall of the restaurant like kindling. "You know what kind of men are out there."

"He's a big boy, Chris. You seem to make a point of that when he's around... "

Chris released him with a last shove. Kestrel's back met the wall with even more force than the first time. "Let him go. He ain't in no danger from those nightriders." Kestrel said. Chris registered the confidence in that statement, but didn't take time to evaluate it. Mounting his horse, Chris growled. "Where's Ezra?" His horse pirouetted in response to his owner's impatience.

"Ain't found him." JD offered.

"He told you he had personal business." Kestrel stated impassively.

Chris glared at him. "How did you know that?"

"You ain't gonna find your Johnny Reb, and Buck don't want to be found. Said he'd leave if I'd stand by you; saw he'd worn out his welcome."

"What the hell's that s'posed to mean?"

JD supplied the answer, the last of the secrets he was hoping Chris could make it right. "Kestrel said Buck was the reason you couldn't forget the past and settle down. He was always there to remind you."

Chris's face froze in anger. The air crackled.

"Said Buck should get the hell out before you had to pack up and leave Four Corners because he wouldn't... "

"Be out of this town when we get back." Larabee ordered Kestrel and was gone. JD, eager to be moving, was right behind him. Vin, Josiah and Nathan moved a little slower, staying long enough to make eye contact with Kestrel and reinforce Larabee's warning.

Ezra sat before his campfire and drank the coffee. He hadn't fixed a meal. He knew he should. With what he was getting into, he didn't know when he'd get another chance. "Never pass up the chance to eat or use the privy." He quoted the words of Old George that first day they had dragged a young, frightened Southerner into the Prisoner of War camp. "Or get warm." Ezra thought to himself. "You should have added never pass up a chance to get warm."

"Hello the camp!" A voice sang out. Ezra tensed. _Oh, God, already? So soon?_ "Ezra, that you?"

Immediately relief flooded Ezra. Just as quickly it was replaced by apprehension for his friend. "Buck?"

The tall shadow materialized as it moved into the circle illuminated by the fire. "Damn, Ezra, you need this bonfire goin'?" Despite the campfire that was, as Buck observed, more of a bonfire, the cold continued to wrap itself around Ezra.

Without waiting for the offer, Buck took Ezra's cup, tossed the lukewarm liquid into the fire and refilled it for his own consumption. Ezra scowled good-naturedly, retrieved a second cup for himself and responded, "To what do I owe this company?"

Buck hesitated. "Got the wanderlust." There was more to it than that.

"By that are you intimating that you have chosen to leave Four Corners?" Ezra was taken by surprise and it showed.

Buck ignored the question and challenged with one of his own, "You got a good excuse being out here on your own? 'Cuz Chris'll…

"Mr. Larabee informed me in no uncertain terms any historical dilemmas that have reemerged from my colorful past are mine alone."

"Damn, Ezra, I'm sorry."

"On the contrary, Mr. Wilmington, I agree with him. I would not have imposed upon him or the others for assistance in this situation."

"What situation? Maybe I can help?" Buck watched the Southerner's face. It remained impassive. The silence stretched out. _Did he even know how to accept help from others?_ Buck wondered. Oh, in a gunfight, sure, when watching each other's back was a matter of mutual self-preservation, but what about when he needed help and thought he had nothing of value to give in return? He must know the bond the seven had forged over the months showed they were there for each other. To Buck's way of thinking that's just what friendship was. They had fought through Josiah's past with his sister and Nathan's with his father. They'd been ready to go against a U.S. Marshal for that bounty on Vin… _Oh hell, what had Ezra said?_ 'Mr. Larabee informed me in no uncertain terms any historical dilemmas that have reemerged from my colorful past are mine alone.' Damn it, Chris, had he been trying to ask you for help and it wasn't offered? They had fought the demons that had chased the others since they had joined together. Chris had told the conman he was on his own. "Ezra, we'll help you with whatever's coming. You know that."

Ezra's face danced with orange and yellowish glows from the fire, his expression defied Buck to continue. "Whatever Chris said to you, it ain't personal." He wasn't getting through to the man across the fire from him. "Or maybe it's too personal. He's not afraid of much, but he's afraid of you because you are a friend." Ezra's face showed flagrant incredulity but the words had gotten his attention - along with a derisive laugh. Buck hurried forward to convince Ezra that Chris hadn't been withdrawing from the gambler, he had been withdrawing from himself. "He's pushin' people away because he's scared. He's gettin' attached. He really don't have it in him to go through somethin' like Sarah and Adam's death again. Or so he thinks. So when he starts to form attachments, he pushes everyone away." Buck had heard this from Chris on one drunken night when the whiskey led to words coming more freely. Buck looked sadly at Ezra. "He's gettin' ready to leave Four Corners. He's just got to convince himself ever'body there's so pissed at him they want him gone. That's to be sure he won't talk himself into comin' back."

"He must surely understand the majority would never hold such animosity against him, no matter... "

"Don't matter what folks really think. Matters what he can convince himself they think." Buck laughed. Ezra didn't. His evaluation of Buck Wilmington took another gut wrenching shift when he acknowledged the caring it must have taken for a man like Buck, a shootist, a rounder, who believed that softer emotions should be left to the gentler sex - or at least only shared with them - to analyze his friend's pain-driven motivations. "Now I think he's seein' Ella in every shadow and thinks she'll hurt someone because of him. So it's time to move on."

"And you're leaving first influences that outcome how?"

"I'm the one who reminds him of his ghosts. I always thought I was doing the right thing, sticking it out with Chris when he got this way. Turns out it was me what reminded Chris of the past, not goin's-on in the towns we stopped at. He'd look at me and be reminded of what he'd lost. And that it could happen again. Chris always left in the past because I wouldn't."

"Did Kestrel put those ridiculous thoughts in your head?" Ezra almost shouted with sudden insight.

"I stayed to protect his back. Now he's got all of you to do it. He never had that before. Never let himself have that. This time I can leave. The others need him." Buck wasn't even talking to Ezra anymore. He was justifying his actions to himself. "Damn, why didn't I see it before?"

"Because it is not true. Mr. Kestrel's treacherous ability to convince people of such things... "

"Maybe Josiah would say it was fate. This is the best place Chris has been in since that day. Maybe I should get Josiah to put in a thanks for me."

"Buck, did you voice any of these concerns to Kestrel?"

"Like he didn't already know."

"Clay Kestrel is a malicious, duplicitous, blackguard. When he was a guard at Elmira he had the talent to start whisper campaigns that would sever the closest ties; scar the best of comrades. We were barely able to organize because of the dissent and suspicious he constantly sowed.

The pain of leaving showed in Buck's face then. Then it was gone and Buck gave him a huge smile. But he wasn't listening to Ezra. "Hell, I'm ready to move on. The War Dog showing up to take my place may not have been a coincidence it may have been a sign."

"Indeed." Ezra murmured suspiciously. He stared at Buck, trying to think of the words to convince him to go home. "What about JD?"

"Yeah, he's gonna be pissed." Buck changed the subject. "Your turn, Pard. What's got you out here you think you have to handle on your own?"

Ezra's eyes took on the look of a deer walked upon unaware. He realized that, unlike Buck, he had been listening. He couldn't accept Buck's help. It was too dangerous. But then, again, if he didn't come back, at least one person would know he hadn't run out on them.


	7. Chapter 7

It was getting too dark to track. Chris knew that. But Buck hadn't tried to hide his trail. He really thought we'd just let him ride out… _thought I'd let him ride out._ _It hadn't always been this way. When did the doubt set in?_ Chris clamped down on the thought. Vin was slightly ahead, tracking. No, that wasn't right. It was too dark to track. He was just keeping the path Buck had set. So why didn't he fall back with the others? Kestrel. Hell with it, Vin, Clay's a good man. A good gun. Not too rowdy, not too much like me, not too innocent or too helpful or too irritating or too forgiving... not someone you have to get close to despite yourself. Things change, Vin. And if you don't like Clay because he and Buck don't see eye to eye... well, the man was pushin' a little too hard, but Clay was just being Clay. Chris looked around. They were moving at a good clip for the minimal light the waning moon supplied. JD seemed to be trying to keep a distance from him. Nathan and Josiah rode to either side of the boy. _Good. Keep him together 'til I knock some sense into that big brother of his and drag him back where he belongs._ Chris's eyes flickered around the group then he kneed his horse to catch up with Vin.

 _Ezra, you can't do this to yourself._ Buck sat silently in thought. He was a little shocked, a lot angered as he absorbed the story. He was vaguely aware of his friend's movement around the campsite. Nothing he needed help with, just movement. Probably to distract him from the confidence he had just entrusted to Buck.

Ezra hunched down slightly behind Buck. For what he had to do next, he needed the big man distracted. "What good do you think you can do in Tuscosa?" Buck spun around so fast that they bumped into each other. Gotcha. Perfect. Buck looked at Ezra like he had the second sight. Ezra laughed and moved over to do something with the horses. "You're heading that way. You may have decided not to watch Mr. Larabee's back for the foreseeable future, but you're still doing it, by making sure those who can, are around and free to do so."

"He watches mine. Don't doubt it."

 _He must._ Ezra didn't voice it. That kind of loyalty can't be bought, but it can't be so one-sided as it sometimes appeared during the stay in Four Corners. Could it be guilt, not loyalty that drove Buck? No. He wouldn't believe that. God, he was getting just as starry-eyed as JD. No not guilt, but the allegiance was colored with that darker brush stroke.

"Chris would be here with you. You now that, don't you, Ezra? If you'd told him what was going on? They all would. In a minute."

"I will not have someone endanger themselves for me out of a misplaced sense of duty."

"Misplaced? Haven't you been listening to me?" Any rebuttal was cut off by the jangle of the bridle hardware as several horses surrounded the campsite.

"We're unarmed!" Ezra called to the men who were yet to show themselves.

Buck's hand slapped for his Colt. The holster was empty. He spun on Ezra who was close enough to whisper, "I have secured your weapon in your saddle bags, Mr. Wilmington. I couldn't afford to let your characteristic protectiveness win you a bullet in an altercation which, by its very nature, must have only one outcome."

"Damn it, Ezra."

The men moved into the circle of light and surrounded them. Damned is right, thought Ezra. It was suddenly even colder. That fire still wasn't warming him. Then where did the sweat come from that chilled him as it crept down his back? The men wore various remnants of Union blue. He recognized a couple who had been in the restaurant earlier. Ezra's increased heart rate echoed in his ears. He was glad there were so many of them. Now he had no choice but to go through with this. Otherwise, he didn't think he could do it.

Buck, beside him, was vibrating with anger. _Damn, no one was supposed to be here. Don't do anything stupid, Buck, please, don't get hurt._

One man, with a thick red mustache and freckles, sidled his big roan closer to Ezra. The animal pranced nervously as it was forced nearer the fire. The whites of its eyes reflected the flames it watched so cautiously. "Ezra Smith, Ezra Simpson, Ezra Standish. I am Captain Thomas Dirkson, of the Union Army. You are under arrest for war crimes discharged against the United States of America during the Insurrection of the South."

"We must be fortunate, Mr. Wilmington, to be in the presence of these men with their penetrating acumen. To levy such charges after President Lincoln saw fit to forgo the condemnation of war crimes in his attempt to facilitate the healing of the nation."

"Lincoln tweren't at Andersonville!" The closest man growled as he kneed the horse closer to Ezra.

Buck suddenly kicked at the campfire flames. Sparks and embers skittered across the ground and flared into the night sky. The man's horse reared in terror. Buck bowled Ezra out of the way of the pawing hooves then pulled on his collar to get him to his feet. "Run!" He demanded. Buck made a dash for his saddlebags. The other men leapt from their horses, cut him off and surrounded them. Buck fought like a panther. Ezra defended himself and Buck's back. Briefly the idea of besting the five to one odds entered Ezra's mind. That was not supposed to happen, he smiled, but with Wilmington, like the others he had thrown in with you could never tell... the thought broke off as out of the darkness, one of the men dove, hit him below the knees and tackled him to the ground. Ezra barely missed landing in the fire as he wrestled his attacker.

Buck had two men in head locks; kicked another in the gut when he tried to move in. A fourth man came out of the darkness. As Buck spun to deflect this attack, the man rammed a knife into the darker protector's back. Buck's own momentum kept him moving and the blade slashed a deep gash across his lower back. Ezra saw this and fought to get out from under the men who penned him down. A much larger man grabbed hands full of the gambler's hair and banged his head against the ground. Lights flashed behind his eyes. Ezra continued to fight for leverage against the man on top of him when the best he should hope for was to remain conscious. He renewed his efforts when he realized that Buck was still on his feet and fighting out of sheer determination. Then he saw the rifle butt rammed against Buck's skull. Ezra cringed at the impact; the way Buck fell immediately and without a sound. And then there was the blood. Ezra struggled to get to his fallen friend. It brought more fierce blows to his body until, "Cut it out, Michaels," a voice ordered. "They want this one alive for sure." Ezra sensed the pummeling stop. Several hands held him tightly. A man leveled his gun at Buck.

"No!" Ezra demanded. "He's not guilty. He fought for the Union!"

"Sympathizer" The growl was accusatory.

"He was trying to help a friend, not a Confederate soldier. He didn't know." Ezra lied quickly, smoothly. Small words. He couldn't take the chance of being misunderstood. The man hesitated but still leaned toward getting rid of a loose end. _Move, Buck, please, let me know you're alive_ "He's one of the shootists from Four Corners. Friend - good friend of Chris Larabee. You've heard of him. You've heard of their tracker." Ezra never stopped speaking, babbling almost, as he was dragged to his feet and his hands tied roughly behind him. He vaguely registered the pain from bruised muscles and ribs. He pushed that to the background as he fought for words to save his friend. "Do you want those men tracking you? What will that do to your plans? They don't stop." Now he was roughly thrown on his unsaddled gelding. He kept his diatribe flowing. Any words that might save his friend. "What will your Commandant say if you bring those kind of men down on your holy crusade?" Damn. Damn. Damn. The sarcasm slipped in. The man raised an angry eye at him. He was going to shoot Buck now in retribution. Ezra closed his eyes. _What have I done?_

Suddenly another soldier broke through the night. "Riders comin'. We leave now, we'll have a 30 minute lead."

"If he's alive, they'll stop to tend to him." Ezra offered as an appeal. "You don't know those men. Daylight or dark, you'll need every minute to lose them." Ezra held his breath. The man pulled back and issued a vicious kick to Buck's injured side before he gave the order, "Let's ride." Ezra noticed Buck didn't move when he was attacked. _Please be well, my friend._ He thought to himself as he was led out of the circle of light surrounded by hate-driven extremists.

Vin kept his horse on the course their wayward partner had set before dark. Chris had given no indication that they would stop for the night. They would catch up to Buck and settle in once their numbers were almost complete. They still had to find Ezra, who by his very nature would hide his directions and intentions. If only they knew why he'd left, they might be able to predict his course. But Buck, straight forward Buck. He had been planning to leave all along. He had shown Vin how to take care of a drunken Chris because he wouldn't be there to do it.

How hard had it really been for Kestrel to convince Buck that all of Chris's problems were his fault? The man was up to something. And it was most likely working. Buck had been turning over the reins that night. Vin had been looking for it, the clue that Buck had had enough and had still missed it. And it was because the emotion that had Buck leaving wasn't that he had 'had enough'. It wasn't an angry emotion. It was, as it always was, a protective one.

Vin pulled up at the glow of a campfire in the distance. There were night sounds in the air, an owl, and crickets. Nothing seemed amiss.

Chris pulled up beside Vin. The others followed suit. Chris looked over at Vin with an unspoken question.

"Let me ride in a little closer. I'll get a sign to you if it's clear." Vin decided.

"I'll pace you."

The two men disappeared into the night almost as soon as they moved forward. The others sat their horses and waited, but not for long.

"Nathan!" Vin's voice cut through the night. The tone was unmistakable. Someone was hurt. JD got his horse off first. The others were right behind him.

Vin and Chris were kneeling over a body when the rest of the seven rode into the camp. "Buck!" JD called as he ran to his friend.

Nathan slid to a stop beside Buck. "Blood back here in his hair. Somebody hit him pretty hard."

Chris and Vin moved back silently to give the others room.

"Buck? Can you hear me?" JD shouted. Nathan looked up at JD. "Get me a canteen." JD ran to comply.

"Do you want to move him closer to the fire? Can you see?" Josiah asked.

"I want to try to wake him up first. Check for other injuries." Nathan moved his hands over the too still body to get an idea of what he couldn't see. He grimaced when his hand came away from his friend's back covered in even more blood.

Buck's sudden and rising voice drew the attention of everyone in the camp. Buck didn't know why it was so dark. The last thing he remembered was drinking. His head hurt like the devil. Was it a hangover? No. Leaving Four Corners. Oh, God, leaving. So was he just on the trail? Then why was it so hard to wake up? Who was calling him? Oh hell, Ezra! Buck tried to get to his friend to help him. He fought the hands that held him back. "Let me go!"

"Buck!"

"Let him go!"

"Buck open your eyes. It's Chris and Nathan."

"Don't touch him!" Buck's shouts to protect his friend overlapped the friends that, in turn, tried to reach his conscious thought. Nathan, in desperation splashed cold water on Buck's face in an attempt to bring him back aware of his surroundings. Buck tried to shake the water from his face. His head exploded with new pain. His eyes came open. He still fought.

"Buck, you're scarin' JD!"

"Wake up!"

"JD?"

"Yes! Yes, Buck, are you alright?"

"JD? How did he get here?"

"Buck, it's Nathan. Try to be still. How's your head?"

"Nathan?" Buck opened his eyes. His friends were there. Nathan, JD, Josiah. Where was Chris?

"Where else are you hurt?"

"Hey, Big Dog, outta town less than a day and you run into something you can't handle." Kestrel purred as he moseyed into the light. Chris's hand went to his gun before he recognized the man. Nathan, Josiah and JD turned quickly, surprised by the man who had followed them. Vin watched quietly, his pistol gripped shotgun already pointed at the new arrival.

Clay Kestrel - that son-of-a-bitch - something about - oh, hell. Buck forced his way to his feet; broke free from the hands that tried to support him, lunged at Kestrel and went to the ground with him. "You son-of-a bitch you can't ruin one life and it's enough ... " Buck punched Clay, but it pulled viciously at his bloody lower back. He threw him off and landed on top of him. Buck roared and continued to fight. He couldn't keep up with the larger man in his weakened condition.

Nathan and Josiah moved in. Chris, further away, somehow beat them to the altercation. He had seen the look in Buck's eye - too tired, too weak to fight, drawing the strength from somewhere most men couldn't tap into. "Damn it, Buck!" Chris roared. Nathan and Josiah supported Buck. Buck didn't miss that Chris stood beside their old trail buddy and read it as displaced loyalty.

"Me?! Ask your friend... " He spat out out like the word was profanity.

"You're hurt, Buck. Your side... "

Buck was focused beyond the pain. "Ask him why he's here, Chris."

Chris turned his attention away from Clay. "Calm down and let Nathan..."

"He's working for some Union captain. Taken it upon himself to punish Civil War criminals."

"Ain't no war criminals. President Lincoln said so -"

"Ask him! He set Ezra up! Ask him!"

"Settle down, Buck." Chris put his hand on his old friends' arm. Buck jerked away. _You weren't there last time either!_ Even in the moment, Buck wondered where that last thought came from. He had almost pulled it all to the fore when he moved wrong and, with a pinched yelp, he fell to the pain in his back.

Nathan and Josiah were there to lower him gently to the ground. JD took a defensive posture between his friend and Clay. He was also between Buck and Chris.

"Ask him." It was a breathy demand, weakened by the pain that overcame him.

Chris turned back to Clay. "What's he talking about?"

""Ezra. We gotta find him." Buck fought to remain conscious but he was weak, sapped. Sheer determination kept him from losing consciousness. But he felt like he was in a well. The voices and goings-on around him were distant and hard to follow. At Nathan's encouragement, JD helped the healer coax Buck back to the ground.

Chris stepped to the penumbra of the camp light. He waited for Nathan's diagnosis. Some emotion gripped him he hadn't felt since... He was angry with himself that he had been so distracted as to allow Clay - or anyone - to ride up on them. Then he noticed that Vin had his mare's leg out. He had heard the approach. Seemed when one of them was less than vigilant the other took up the slack. But then it registered that Vin had, consciously or unconsciously, yet to return his weapon to its holster. And the way he was wary of the new arrival. This caused Chris himself to notice the way Clay was watching everything. It was a predatory, evaluating, cold appraisal of each of the men. Chris didn't like it. He was on Clay in a step and slammed his fist across his jaw.

Clay knew Chris; had anticipated the attack, but not the speed. He went to the ground and rubbed his chin. "You said the nighthawks wouldn't go after him." Larabee spit out.

"He's still alive, ain't he?"

Larabee moved in like an alpha wolf to lead in the kill. Vin stepped back to willingly give Larabee access to Kestrel. In doing so, he bumped into something heavy. "Chris." The tone in his best friend's voice might have been the only thing that could pull Larabee from the other gunman. He backed away from the troublemaker with a glare that told him things weren't over. Kestrel kept his face impassive but maintained a superior air that, Josiah thought, no amend that, hoped, would prove suicidal. With that thought, Vin's one word also drew Josiah to where the bounty hunter toed something in the darkness. "Ezra's saddle."

Buck's dapple was the only horse there. Chris read the story the campsite told. "Where the hell is he? Who else was here?"

"Several horses." He could tell Vin was doing his best to read sign in the flickering light. Chris turned to confront the outsider in their midst.


	8. Chapter 8

Nathan insisted they wait even for Clay's explanation until they got settled. Buck thought he heard himself try to insist they move out. He thought he heard Vin apologetically explain they could do nothing in the night. Clay enigmatically said they wouldn't have to.

Josiah moved out of Nathan's way as he tended to Buck's injuries. He might have been able to help but then they would both have to work around JD who couldn't be torn from his friend's side. The boy was unnaturally quiet, bothered by recent events. They let him stay close to Buck and gain comfort from the closeness.

They finally angled Buck against his and Ezra's saddles in such a way that he neither rubbed the cut on his back nor pulled at the few stitches Nathan had taken in the deepest puncture. Except for the initial entry wound the slice wasn't too serious. It could heal on its own. Nathan couldn't help compare it to a small paper cut he had gotten one day helping Mrs. Travis at the Clarion. He remembered that the nerve endings had responded more to that small cut than deeper ones he'd felt. Buck was in for some pain. He forced a white willow bark tea down the stubborn throat and finally let him kill the taste with coffee.

Chris and Vin chose to stand when everyone finally had coffee and Kestrel began his tale. Vin seemed to dissolve in the shadows.

"There's a former Union captain, Benjamin Francis Carlisle. He was a prisoner of war at Andersonville. Despite what the Union decided, he's set up some mobile, clandestine POW camp. He arrests confederate soldiers, sympathizers, scouts, and spies. Pretty much anyone with a southern accent or friends of southerners could be on his list. The few confederate soldiers... ".

"You went along with this?" Chris's whispered interrupted.

"There was a time... There **were** atrocities committed... "

"On both sides."

"You would punish, you would hold accountable, one side for crimes committed in both camps because they lost?"

Kestrel chose not to rise to Josiah's condemnation. "I was recruited by my sub-commandant from Elmira. His name is Lucas Bridger. Things made sense until I'd see them bring in a Southerner because they didn't like his attitude. Or a man would see beyond the war to defend a friend and be branded a sympathizer - even if he had fought for the Union. Carlisle brought in others who were bitter over the war to back him. They kept bringing in prisoners."

"And trying them for war crimes."

"The bodies we've been finding?" JD asked.

Buck held his coffee as if to warm his hands and listened. JD moved closer. Nathan tried to grasp the ramifications of all that was being said. Josiah looked as if once again his disappointment in mankind had been validated.

"Carlisle always said each man'd get a fair trial. But no one seemed to go free. There's no reading the way they think. Something about if they've executed enough men by the time they reach Gettysburg, the government will take over for him."

"His body count will justify his crusade? That's insane."

"You think you're gonna leave Ezra to that nut case?" Buck's voice was low.

Kestrel took time to meet each man's eyes. What he saw was loyalty. "You know me, Chris. I get stupid sometimes. But I come around. I've been working with three confederate soldiers to find the camp."

"You don't know where he sets up?" Vin's tone was suspicious.

"I'm a scout. My job is to hunt down war criminals. They keep my knowledge minimal in case I'm 'captured'. A separate team comes in to arrest anyone I identify."

"Why not go to the Cavalry? Have them track these men down?"

"The Johnny Rebs don't trust them. Besides, they ride in like gangbusters, how many POW's will die?"

Chris didn't look convinced. "Have you tried to follow them?"

"We're not trackers, we lose 'em. They backtrack and such. But not this time."

"What makes you think this time is different?"

"Standish. I told you there's no reading what Carlisle thinks. But Bridger. He was held responsible for the escape EZ led at Elmira. Lost his eye to him in the aftermath. EZ is legitimately on the war criminals list. They won't waste time getting him back to stand trial. They won't take time to cover their trail to lose us. Besides, what I hear, Vin here can track a doodle bug movin' from one hole to the other. We got 'em this time."

There was silence around the campfire. Kestrel could tell they still didn't trust him. He played his hole card. His voice became lower, as if he regretted what he had to say. "Lately, the men riding with him have started looting from those they 'arrest'. I think they've started arresting innocent men just to take property and money from them. They've burned homes. I don't know who put those ideas in their heads..." he trailed off and looked to Chris for a reaction. "If Carlisle or Bridger have snapped to that, they're ignoring it."

Buck's eyes were filled with hatred. Kestrel had known all along the risk he took by endangering someone he and Larabee had taken under their umbrella of friendship. He had hoped things might be more callous with Chris after his family's death. The mention of the fires seemed to harden him a fraction. That might be something to play on after all.

And yet, the Preacher looked like he was seeing right through him. You could feel the confidence in that tag-along boy that Larabee would look out for the current situation. The kid was more worried about Wilmington and the risks he would take to go after Standish. The tracker was keeping his eyes, body language, any possible reads hidden in the shadows. And the healer. A former slave, how could he appear so indignant that a few Southerners were getting their comeuppance? Hell, at least Standish. He had seen those brown eyes go darker when he'd told that story in the bar.

But there they were, evaluating him, finding him wanting. "I'm trying to save lives, undo what I've done." Still no reads as to whether they were accepting his epiphany. He pushed. "Look, my men are on them tonight. Let's get some rest and relieve them tomorrow. Once we find this God forsaken place, then we can decide what to do."

"What can we do tonight, at this point?" Nathan said it casually enough, but he inclined his head in Wilmington's direction. Chris, reading what the healer could not say without agitating their wounded friend. Buck was nodding and fighting to stay awake. There was a thin sheet of sweat across his forehead. He was spent beyond his worth and battling the fatigue that called him to sleep.

As Chris watched, Buck gave JD a weak smile and reassuring wink that the boy fell for because he wanted it so badly. "Tonight, then. Everybody get some rest." Larabee knew how used up Buck was when he didn't protest. Although he suspected his bullheaded partner had elected to choose his battles and would save his strength for when he argued, demanded that they let him go with them tomorrow.

Buck tried to get comfortable. Finally he realized it wasn't his back rubbing against the sheepskin underside of the saddle as much as it was the doe-brown eyes that stared at him. He wasn't looking forward to this. "Spit it out boy." He said brusquely, trying to set the tone of the oncoming conversation.

JD didn't take the bait. His tone was hurt and confused. "I need to know why you didn't want me riding with you."

"It ain't that way, Kid. You need to stay with people like Chris and Nathan and Josiah, responsible people."

"Is it because of the things I said? I shouldn't have said... I can do better..."

"Don't you ever, ever be afraid to say anything you want to around me. Do you hear me?" Buck sounded as angry as his condition would allow.

JD hung his head. His long dark bangs fell forward to hide his eyes. His friend reached out and took his wrist. When the young man looked up to meet his eyes, Buck said much more gently. "I don't want you to ever worry what you say to me. It ain't gonna change us. What you think is important. Wouldn't hurt me to pay more attention." He smiled to try and lighten the conversation.

"Then why did you leave and not say anything or... "

"It's for your own good."

JD was quiet for a moment as if trying to understand the answer. "Is that what Chris says to you when he leaves?"

That was like a blow. And for a moment it dredged up a memory the ex-Texas Ranger could almost grasp, but then it was gone. Dismissing the thoughts that wouldn't come to the fore, and after thinking about the answer, Buck chose honesty. "Yeah, Kid, yeah, he does. I reckon in his own way, he believes it. But I reckon I know how it feels, and I never liked it. I didn't mean to do the same thing. I don't know what the answer is, but what say you and me find a better way?"

The sincere smile and relief that came over JD's face was worth any doubts Buck had in his reply. The mustached gunfighter leaned his head back in pained exhaustion and shut his eyes for a moment.

"JD," Chris called from across the fire. Buck opened his eyes and they both looked that way. "Buck needs his rest. You gonna be part of the problem or part of the cure?" JD acknowledged the ultimatum with the same relieved grin and turned back to make sure Buck was as comfortable as possible. Then JD moved his bedroll closer to Buck and slept better than he had the last two nights.

Chris set across the fire and watched JD and Buck from beneath his lowered hat brim. He had to smile. The boy would mother hen the gunslinger to death. It would serve him right. He thought about the older of the two kids. Because that's what Buck was. He would never grow up. And he wasn't used to being cared for. He would balk worse than any of the others and that was saying something.

Good old Buck. Usually he was a gangly colt, so busy loving life and frolicking he could barely keep his legs under him. In the blink of an eye there was also the fiercely protective Buck Wilmington and there was the deadly shootist who you would always want at your side and never against you. But when you really needed him, there was the Buck Wilmington he chose rarely to share with anyone other than the women he courted, the Buck Wilmington who could chose just the right words to soothe a guilty conscience, a wounded heart or a frightened soul. That was the Buck Wilmington consoling their youngest. He could tell from clear across camp. JD was a lucky young man. Chris nodded to Josiah as he took first watch.

The men were breaking camp at first light. Daylight gave Nathan a better look at Buck's injuries. The scalp wound was more than a headache. The eyes were dilated irregularly and he would blink occasionally as if to clear blurred vision. Already twice today he'd noticed the rascal pause, waver, as if fighting dizziness or disorientation. The healer wished there were some other option other than forcing him to ride, yet he knew better than to try to get Buck to stay behind. Apparently a concussion and the pain from the long, shallow knife wound were no match for stubborn and cussed bullheadedness.

Across the way Nathan heard Kestrel argue his side, that he should ride with them. The Johnny Rebs following Ezra trusted him. They were men who didn't trust easily. They were following a dangerous, organized enemy who could plant spies in their midst as they did in the war. Larabee and his crew would save valuable time with Kestrel acting as go-between he insisted.

Chris scanned the others. Damn the man and his logic. As if Chris's visual check of the group had opened the decision up, Josiah sauntered forward and forced the reins of Kestrel's horse into his hands. "Get in your saddle."

With a decisive nod, Chris added, "We're wasting time arguing." Chris met Buck's eye to see if there would be a problem. Buck, his face unreadable, concentrated on turning his horse and moved out faster than he should in his condition.

The initial tracks from the night before were easy to follow. Chris kneed his pony to keep up and JD was right with them.

Josiah unobtrusively hung back to ensure compliance by the stranger in their group. Nathan and Vin followed his lead. "Mighty eager to have that man ride with us." From Nathan's tone of voice they could tell he was not thrilled with the idea.

"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, Brother Nathan" Josiah kneed his horse forward so he could make conversation with Kestrel. Nathan shook his head. Vin indulged in a wistful smile.

Ezra rode in silence. They had tied his hands in front of him, but let him hold his own reins. The men who had taken him from the camp rode single file now. They were being careful to back track; hide the trail. Some of the men were behind them. No doubt they were doing things to further throw off people who might be looking for them. They seemed to be very good at it.

His thoughts drifted to the night before. He hoped Buck was all right. How could that happen? He had been so careful to be alone when these men came after him. It had been his plan to be sure no one else got hurt. And yet, one of those men, those six he rode with, had somehow shown up. For once he hadn't been on his own to handle a bad situation as best he could.

He understood those men standing back to back to protect the town or even Vin from Eli Joe that time. But this had been his problem, his history, and his past that had followed him and tracked him down. He had tried to leave. One of them had shown up. Buck had been there, fought for him and been injured because of it.

Buck had fought for him as recklessly and determinedly as he would have fought for the others. What was with that? Was it Wilmington's nature? Or did he believe Ezra was a friend worth fighting for? It best served the Southerner's survival instincts to believe Wilmington would fight for anyone who needed help.

But it came back to him that Wilmington was willing to die for a friend. If their leader didn't recognize the value of that kind of friendship he was a fool. But of the many things Larabee was, he wasn't a fool. He had come for Buck. There was no doubt in Ezra's mind that Chris led the riders that had brought about the hasty retreat of the ex-Union soldiers. And the others would be with him. Nathan would be there. They would take care of one of their own.

Ezra knew he had to get past those thoughts. He had a task ahead of him. He had to get himself back into that place in his mind where he could deal with this situation he found himself in.

He was alone now, and on his own. Strange how easy it was, really; how far he had come in some ways and not a step in others. It was a testament to how far he'd come that he really felt the need to do this, to help the men already imprisoned by a madman. And he did it despite the fact that his mother would chastise him; despite that part of her that fed into his intelligence and had him chastising himself.

But at the same time, he knew better than to rely on Clay Kestrel and his men. He would have to devise a means of escape on his own. He didn't trust the men backing him up no matter how good their intentions. There were only six men he trusted that way and in that sense, the sense of trust, he hadn't come so far at all. He studied the men surrounding him; watched for a weakness he could exploit. He hadn't seen one yet. If he could engage them in conversation and delve into their personalities he might discover his weak link.

There was another reason to keep his mind occupied. It would do no good to dwell on what was ahead. Just the thought of the place left him to believe he would never be clean again. The sweat from his horse seeped into his pants legs. His shirt had been torn during the altercation the night before. One of his captors already wore his jacket. Another wore his hat at what the fool must consider a jaunty angle.

They had taunted him earlier, but that wasn't so easy while they were riding single file to hide their numbers. Too bad, thinking of the comebacks had been at least a light preoccupation. Now he thought about Elmira. First it was filthy. And crowded. And the cold - men's toes and fingers seemed to die of frostbite in an unsuccessful attempt to shunt the blood to the more vital organs. In the end, it was useless. So many died.

Well, at least the cold wasn't such a factor. Mid-February here still had the bitterly cold nights, but the days warmed up fairly tolerable, sometimes even hot. There would be dysentery and food poisoning. Judging from the ones with him now, there would be embittered and resentful guards. And there would be Bridger, his short riding crop, the dead, blue eye, those massive, callused hands, a hunger... Terrell had been the lucky one when he died. And sometimes, even with fine clothes and a down pillow, you could never be clean again.

Ezra closed his eyes tightly to block out the memories. His fists clenched around the reins. Focus, damn it. Find the answers. Don't give up before you get there. But even as he fought for inner courage, he finally realized they had been riding almost a full day. A day closer to hell.


	9. Chapter 9

Buck was fretful and hurting. He cast a glance at the three ex-Confederate soldiers that rode with them now. Clay had introduced them as Carson, Bonner and Darby. He remembered how they had caught up with them way too early for it to be good news. He'd been right. They'd lost the men they were supposed to follow. Despite Kestrel's predictions, the "Union" soldiers had traveled all night and concealed their tracks. These rag-tag losers had again been no match for their adversaries.

Buck had started to work himself up, but Vin leaned over and grabbed his saddle horn. "Save your strength, Buck. Let me see what I can find." He had ridden out. Josiah wasn't surprised Chris let JD accompanied the tracker. The boy wanted to learn everything he could and was an apt student. And it would keep his mind off of things he could not control.

There wasn't much choice but to take a break and wait for Vin and JD. But as Buck channeled his pain toward anger he became convinced that Chris had called camp early because of him. There were at least two hours of good light left. They needed to be using it to follow the men who had Ezra.

Buck tried to argue with Larabee, but was ignored. It made him temperamental enough to refuse to allow Nathan to get any willow bark tea down him. But as soon as Larabee was out of sight Clay ambled over, hunkered down with a bottle of rot gut and shared it with an amused, "medicinal purposes." Buck was quick to join him in a drink.

The truth was that Buck was having trouble focusing. He knew it would pass. He'd been the same way once before when one of the wild mustangs had kicked him at Chris's place. It would pass. He needed to help get Ezra out of his jam. Nathan had been there poking and prodding and said something about keeping a low-grade fever from getting worse.

Buck, too tired to truly focus, was relieved when he finally heard Vin return. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it didn't seem too long. When Kestrel had originally introduced the two factions, he ended with, "The tracker fella who's gonna save your sorry asses and find that trail is Vin Tanner." Seems he had been right.

There was some conversation about how someone put something over the horses hoofs to soften the signs, something about traveling single file - tumbleweed or sage tied to the back horse to smooth out the ground behind them."

"Can you follow it?" Chris had asked.

"Piece of cake." Buck clearly heard that and was relieved. He even worked up a smile as Tanner rode past Kestrel's three men and drawled, "Hope you fella's are better at keepin' up and fightin' than you are at cold trailin'."

It had taken Buck's two hours of daylight for Vin and JD to find the trail, so their early camp had become a foregone conclusion. To Buck's thinking the day had been a waste except for Vin's confidence in the track they would be following tomorrow.

Buck knew that Vin was relaying the information directly to him in an attempt to console him. How did he know Buck was feeling guilty that he hadn't been able to do more to help their missing friend.

"Buck, you feeling all right?" The tracker asked late in the evening.

"Don't start. Nathan ain't on me, you don't need to be."

"Nathan doesn't know you like I do." Chris imposed himself into the conversation. Buck gave him that damn indecipherable look again. "We're going to have to talk about it." Chris continued. Vin moved forward to give them privacy.

"Talk about what?"

"You're ridin' out." Clay saw the uneasy look on Buck's face and sidled his horse over, interrupting Chris without a second thought.

"Hey, Old Dog, can I talk to you here?"

With only the briefest hesitation, Chris addressed Buck, "This isn't over." He let Clay lead him away from the others. Behind Chris's back, the raven-haired rogue tossed Buck the bottle of rotgut and a wink. Buck smiled appreciatively and uncorked the bottle.

JD cast a cautious eye at Buck. "You can share, JD, but don't even think about taking this away from me." And he tipped the bottle on end at his lips.

Nathan was not so hesitant as the young gunman. He snapped the bottle from their injured friend. "That don't mix with a head wound. You want to be in any shape to ride with us tomorrow?" Buck glared at his friend first, then contritely nodded agreement.

A short distance from the others, Kestrel observed the interaction and cast a cold glare at Nathan before he faced his old friend. "Chris, I want to sit some things straight."

Larabee waited, but did nothing to encourage conversation. "The boy, I admire the hell out of his takin' up for his friend, but he took a lot of things wrong that I said to Buck. I think maybe he's rememberin' me saying things that really came from the Big Dog over there. Kid just doesn't want to see that." Kestrel's tone of voice was much like the one he used to talk about Darby in front of Carson or Bonner, patient, tolerant, not wanting to call the boy a liar, but…

Chris looked from Kestrel to JD to Buck and back again. He couldn't help hear the tone of voice as well as the words themselves. Kestrel continued, "Buck confides in me, you know that. I could talk to the boy, but he won't listen, you might... it was all a misunderstanding."

Chris watched the man's face, watched for any sign of deception. "Make sure there are no more misunderstandings." It was an ultimatum, and with it Chris rode forward to catch up to Tanner.

Clay was a good poker player, a good bluffer, a good liar. But what would he have to gain setting Buck off on his own? Without a motive, it was hard to imagine their old friend causing dissension. They had ridden the river together; saved each other's lives. That meant something to Chris Larabee. The man was pushin' a little too hard, but Clay was just being Clay. What had Ezra said? He turned his back on anything he couldn't settle with a gun? Maybe this was the time to change that.

Clay Kestrel studied the men. They didn't give away much, but his explanation and remorse seemed to have placate the group to a degree. He glanced over at Carson who was keeping counsel with his own men. Kestrel threw him a quick wink.

Despite Clay's assurances that they were safe, Chris set up a watch when they made camp for the night. Chris sent Josiah on the first shift with Carson. He wanted his men to mix with the others. They had decided to gather what information they could from Kestrel's associates, one on one.

Josiah's eyes fell on the rot gut Nathan had taken from Buck. He took the bottle from his friend and tossed it roughly back at Kestrel in passing. Kestrel fumbled with the force with which the bottle was directed at him, but maintained a grip. The look on Josiah's face and the action said 'Keep it to yourself.'

Later around the campfire, everyone tried to relax and rest for what might come. Josiah and Carson, on guard, still remained close enough to hear what plans might be formed. Kestrel volunteered what little intelligence information he could offer regarding the POW camp. "There's at least 30 men who follow Carlisle. More could have joined him and I wouldn't know about it. We get them penned down, they'll have over 100 hostages."

"If we get into a standoff, how many prisoners do we let them kill before they give up or we do?" Carson played his part.

"We're outnumbered to begin with... " Nathan mused.

"That's one way to look at it." Kestrel smiled.

"You have another take on this, Mr. Kestrel?"

"Way I see it, me, War Dog and Big Dog here got 'em outnumbered by two. Then we got the rest of you for backup."

"How you figure that?" JD asked incredulously.

"One riot, one ranger." Kestrel quoted like a motto.

It took a moment to sink in. Clay smiled proudly at the motto. Buck stared into the flames. Chris found something fascinating in his coffee cup.

There was a mixture of disbelief, wonder and a little betrayal in JD's next hushed tones. "You were a Texas Ranger?"

"Told you I'd been a lawman." Buck's answer was just as low.

Not satisfied with the answer, but sensing it was all he'd get just now, he turned the same question to Chris, "You were a Texas Ranger?"

"Once a Ranger, always a ranger. They'll ride with 'em again when they get around to it.

"Leave it, JD." Chris growled then he softened his tone perceptibly. "For now."

"Gentlemen, these two haven't told you the kind of team they made have they?" Kestrel asked, "Unconventional. It's a beautiful word when you see their application. Most of the time it's not even planned. It's an honor when you can see them in action."

Kestrel told a few more tales of how Larabee and Wilmington had taken on the greatest odds and won because, while no one else could predict what outrageous course of action they might take, they seemed to read each other's minds in those situations. He could tell JD hung on every word. Nathan and Josiah seemed to enjoy hearing of the lighter side of Chris's life. It helped to see what Buck fought to hold on to.

Vin couldn't help it. While this man seemed to be mending fences faster than should be possible after the havoc he'd wrought, Vin couldn't help but feel uneasy in his presence. He watched closely. There was a reason for the feelings - the man's body language? Maybe the way he chose his words the - there it was - the way his eyes constantly flitted from man to man. He was more concerned with how his stories effected the others; set them at ease, than he was with sharing good stories and good feelings. Now, was that a threat, or was it just the man?

"We're tryin' to figure how to get Ezra and the others out of this." Chris said, thinking to change the subject.

"I think that's Clay's point, Chris."

It didn't take Chris long to get on the same wavelength or to growl as he shut down the idea. 'No."

"Chris... "

"Pandemonium could be our friend. You know like the last time - "

"They'll be another way." Chris stated with finality.

"Want to let us in on it?" Nathan asked impatiently.

Without detailing whatever past episode the three men had suddenly focused on, Buck chose to apply their implied tactic to the current situation. He seemed to ramble a little bit and Nathan watched him closer to see if there were any other symptoms from his concussion. "One of us would get ourselves thrown inside that camp with Ezra and the others - he could let those prisoners know what's coming and organize them to back us up as soon as we let 'em out."

"They know what's comin', take the guards by surprise - " Kestrel encouraged.

"Nobody else is going in that cess pool." Chris stated.

"I could do it." JD volunteered.

"No!" Buck exploded.

"He's right, Kid. Carlisle's too partial to young 'uns. That's why EZ appealed back then - got away with so much back then." A sallow coldness set over the group with Clay's newest revelation. It made the situation more desperate.

"They saw me with Ezra. I'd be a logical... "

Chris interrupted Buck venomously. "No one goes in there! JD, you and Darby get over there and relieve Josiah and Carson."

CRRAATHAAWCK. Ezra flinched involuntarily as the whip cut into the scrub mesquite to his right. He didn't open his eyes. He told himself the sound was like thunder. Once you heard it, you were safe from the lightning. Until the next time. The whip cracked through the air again. He smelled cedar as wood chips and leaves rained down on him. The men, led by the red-haired giant with the beard, laughed at him as he recoiled. He absently wondered if Mr. Larabee had a flinch reflex or if he would have been able to sit here, like stone, and stare these men down in defiance.

Ezra leaned back against the gnarled cedar that defied the elements and put down roots in the godforsaken plains. He was able to maintain his relaxed posture except for that damned lash.

He didn't know why they were still in camp. Unfortunately it left his overseers bored and he was their distraction. Even worse, it meant that they weren't worried about being discovered. That didn't bode well for rescue in the form of Kestrel's confederate liberators. The thought sobered the self-sufficient conman.

Startled, it took him a moment to register the level of pain when it bit into his arm. The whip sliced through his already tattered sleeve and the flesh of his upper arm. He sprang to alert, gasped, and reached to squelch the instant blood flow. The redhead, his name was Jordan, hooted. The gash erupted in a fiery pain and Ezra held his breath involuntarily to fight it.

Jordan knelt down in front of him and ran the grip of the whip over the cut and pressed hard. "Got your attention then, didn't I you son-of-a bitch."

Ezra shouldered the man off balance to get the pressure off the wound. Jordan righted himself and backhanded Ezra to the ground.

Jordan kicked Ezra back to the ground when he would have tried to stand. "You've got a long stay to be showing attitude, boy." He hissed.

Ezra thought of several quick replies. That he couldn't catch his breath to utter the words was a blessing in disguise. His already bruised ribs informed Standish that trying that again was not a good idea.

Jordan immediately pulled Ezra to his feet. "I wish you'd make up your mind." He was able to gasp.

"I'll be glad to have a part in breaking you." The bearded soldier laughed. Then he shoved his prisoner toward the horses. "Mount up."

So they were on some schedule, Ezra mused.


	10. Chapter 10

Josiah and JD seemed regretful that Buck had to sit his horse again so soon. But Buck had been anxious to be on the move and wasn't complaining.

Kestrel had muscled his horse to Chris's right. _Vin's spot._ JD thought proprietorially on his friend's behalf. His thoughts were cut short by the sound of a Mockingbird's call.

Within moments they had all responded to Vin's guarded warning. They belly crawled up a slight rise and saw Ezra and his captors.

Josiah clapped Vin on the back. He had done it.

There were five well-armed soldiers guarding Ezra. He didn't look too much the worse for wear from this distance, but Buck remembered the fight and knew they'd both been bruised. "Let's go get 'em." Buck growled.

Through his spyglass Vin could see there was more damage than the others could observe and was standing to back Buck's play.

"No." Clay ordered. All of the men looked him over like he was a new life form. They didn't take orders well.

Clay quickly explained, "Ezra's agreed to this. We have to find those men."

Larabee, Tanner and Wilmington, as one, ignored him and moved below the hillock. The others followed as if an order had been given. Carson and Bonner kept watch.

"Tell me again why you can't lead us to this POW camp?" Larabee demanded.

"They move while I'm out looking for war criminals."

"They're not war criminals!" JD caught himself at the last minute and lowered his voice. He didn't know how far it would carry across the flatness. Buck put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder.

Kestrel ignored the young Easterner. In this moment of intensity, when his plans were on the line, the fact that the boy didn't even exist as far as he was concerned became evident. He only had eyes for Larabee and Wilmington and an occasional glance at Sanchez. "I explained that to you. I only find them when they contact me. We're so close." He looked for a weak link. "We're so close to ending a nightmare for over 100 men." He waited.

"Chris, let's get Ezra the hell away from those men then 'convince' one of them to tell us where the damn cage is." Buck demanded.

Chris considered this alternative. He wanted to get Ezra back safely. He wanted Buck to know that his opinion mattered.

Before a decision could be made things changed. Bonner alerted them. Chris and Vin returned to their lookout post in time to see five more men ride up and joined Ezra's captors. The rest of the seven were too far away to hear what was happening, and the odds having suddenly changed gave them pause.

Ezra heard the sound of horses and saw the new arrivals. They reined up in front of Jordan's gang and leered at Ezra. "See ya caught one. Looks like he might have had some cash on him?" It was a question.

"Naw, this one buys us credit with Carlisle and Bridger. This here's Ezra Simpson."

The leader of the mounted men let out a low whistle and nudged Ezra with his booted toe.

"What about you? Kestrel hasn't checked in with anyone new?" Jordan allowed.

"None of the other advance guard have either. We just got restless. Thought we'd see what we could track down. Gotta be some of that 'Southern blight' out here somewhere." All the men laughed.

Ezra could tell that this was no longer a campaign to punish atrocities. It was an excuse to pillage and ruin lives. These men had no intention of looking for "war criminals" they were seeking out victims. Ezra memorized the faces of all these men as Collins, Jordan's second-in-command, tied his wrists together. There were no war crimes, but there were laws these men would be held accountable for. "See you back in time for supper if we don't get lucky."

"Take care, Tucker." Jordan laughed.

Chris and Vin observed the scene unfolding below them. The others waited out of sight for word. The five most recent arrivals didn't stay long before they moved on. "Chris?"

"Let's see what happens." Buck heard this and carefully joined them to observe. The others followed his lead.

The five Union soldiers moved away from their comrades and Ezra in a northeasterly direction.

Ezra watched Tucker and his outriders move off. "Mount up, Reb," one of the other men ordered.

Ezra slowly moved back toward his chestnut gelding. It gave him time to evaluate the situation. The conversation had told him they were close. Less than a day. It felt like there was ice filling his chest and his heart was having to fight against the obstruction to beat. Before his captors could tell he wasn't reining up, he had the bridle off of his horse and slapped its rump. The horse was gone in a flash. "What the hell."

Not knowing what to expect or why their prisoner had taken this action, one of the men kicked Ezra violently to the ground. He contemplated staying there until Jordan flicked his whip out to twist around his throat; the tip bit deeply into the flesh across his shoulder blade. The bearded horseman used the whip to jerk Ezra to his knees.

From the knoll, Buck flinched and JD almost jumped to his feet before being pulled back down by Josiah.

"What the hell's he doing?" Chris growled.

"Gettin' himself killed by the looks of it." Nathan worried.

"Let's ride." Chris ordered.

"Chris wait. We need to... " Kestrel began.

Chris cut him off. "We'll use Buck's way. We'll get those men to tell us where the others are being held." He made the statement as if hoping the men wouldn't give up their information easily and would have to be convinced.

Clay's expression turned dark. They weren't listening to him. He wasn't in control. He didn't like not being in control and he didn't like men who took authority away from him.

They moved down to where Darby tended the horses and kept them quiet.

As they mounted up and started to Ezra's party, gunfire erupted from the northeast.

The head of everyone in Chris's group jerked around in the direction of the fired shots.

Kestrel jumped on the opportunity to regain control of the situation. "Standish knows what he's getting into. We need him to lead us to the camp. Those gunshots mean they are attacking an innocent person. They're not hiding their trail any more." He nodded toward where they could find Ezra and his captives over the hill. "We can find them. Hell, Tanner here could find them if they walked on water. They'll keep Standish alive, I swear. Are you going to take the chance innocent people will die?"

Damn the man and his logic.

Larabee knew to split up wasn't an option. He wanted numbers on their side when he took on either of these factions. "Let's take care of this fast." Fast, and with finality, Larabee's voice seemed to add. He twisted his horse in the direction of the gunshots and rode out.

Jordan never released his hold on the whip as he dismounted and walked up to his prisoner. He kept enough tension on the leather that, while Ezra could work his fingers between the braiding and his skin and keep from choking, he could still feel it bite into his neck and keep him under the bigger man's control. Jordan knelt down and used the lash like a leash and pulled Ezra forward until they were nose to nose. "What the hell was that with the horse?"

He got no response.

"Want us to go after the horse?" One of Jordan's followers asked.

Jordon turned back to Ezra still on the ground before him. He thought he had the gambler's number. "Do you really expect someone in town to care if your horse comes back riderless? You think someone will look for you? Let the damn thing go. I want to watch this one waiting for help that will never come." The smile that came across the man's lips gave Ezra an uncomfortable feeling. "Guess you'll be walking, now, Southern boy. Reckon you could use a little comeuppance."

With a practiced flick he used the whip to wrench Ezra onto his back on the ground. He landed with a painful grunt as his ribs reminded him he wasn't ready for this. "Harold. Looks like his boots are about your size. Have 'em." As the smaller soldier greedily got down from his horse and jerked the boots for himself, Jordan squatted down to meet Ezra's eyes. "Gonna be a long walk, Southern boy."

Another of the men had already prepared a noose and put it around Ezra's neck like a leash.

"I suspect you might be right." Ezra drawled.

Harold was especially proud of his new boots when he found the $200.00 hidden inside. The men joked about how they should divide the spoils as they rode; pulling Ezra after them.

Any regrets Larabee's men had at having to leave their friend were temporarily erased when they came upon the source of the gunshots.

The self-proclaimed seekers of justice were attacking a lone covered wagon. The settlers had yet to strike camp from the night before and had been taken unaware. The big mules were not yet harnessed up to the wagon.

Tucker held his gun on a wounded man. The man tried to rise despite the threat pointed at him.

Another soldier, who still wore the tattered jacket and insignia of a Private held onto a struggling, hysterical woman. He held her too close and his laugh was too lecherous. He kicked out at an eight-year-old boy that tried to protect his mother.

The father was not an aggressive man, his frustration at not being able to protect his family was palpable and painful even from a distance... not able to protect his family. Chris rode down on the man holding the woman like an avenging angel. Buck was by his side. JD rode beside them. Vin, Nathan and Josiah angled their horses only slightly to rescue the husband.

Kestrel and Carson led their men directly toward the wagon itself where the other three men ransacked the possessions looking for valuables. These men heard the pounding hooves headed their way. "Tucker!" One of the men shouted. It was unnecessary. And they prepared to meet the new arrivals.

Tucker and the Private had already recognized the more serious threat bearing down on them.

"Run, Tommy! Oh, God, please, run!" The woman pleaded to her son.

The boy was petrified in his spot.

The Private held the woman before him as a shield. She would have doubled over in grief and horror had his fingers not bit into her waist and held her up. "Jonathan!" She screamed for the husband behind her who she could not see. "Asa! Asa!"

"JD. The boy." Chris ordered.

JD wrapped his reins around Lit'l Dusty's saddle horn to keep a gun hand free. He controlled the small bay with his knees and headed toward the child.

Chris and Buck covered their youngest.

The bushwhackers in the wagon returned fire. They concealed themselves behind trunks and furniture originally meant to add comfort as this family started its new life. They had more time to aim than the men in the open did.

Chris ducked reflexively as a bullet slammed his hat from his head. It whipped against his back; held there by the chin strap.

Josiah barely noticed as a bullet carved a groove across his upper left shoulder. Driven by an adrenaline induced euphoria, the big preacher acknowledged no more pain than he would notice from a bee sting. Before him were men who preyed on other men for no other reason than their victim had been raised to be a gentle soul. He would be God's retribution in this matter whether God needed his help or not.

Tucker ran for the cover offered by the wagon. He was spun to the ground as both Nathan and Josiah's bullets hit their mark.

Jonathan tried to stand but his wounds hindered him. Nathan grabbed the injured man and dragged him behind a stand of cedar. It should be enough cover against the men who were now distracted by the more immediate danger that an enraged Chris Larabee and Josiah Sanchez represented.

The Private dragged the woman with him not willing to give up his hostage. Hiding behind her; predicting the hesitancy with which the other men would direct shots her way, he used the advantage. He had more time to aim and was much more accurate with the shots he directed at Larabee and his men.

Bonner was launch backwards from his horse as one of the Private's slugs found its target. Darby and Carson were off their horses in a blink to cover and protect their fallen comrade.

"Carson?" Kestrel shouted.

"We've got him. Stop those bastards!"

Kestrel turned to comply.

Kestrel finally found a mark and one of the men in the wagon spun back and against a kerosene lamp still lit from the night before. The rough, dry canvas quickly gave itself over to the flames.

The Private brought horses to his two remaining allies in the burning wagon. They took to the horses and fled; firing wildly to cover their retreat.

Oblivious to the woman's pleas to save her family and using the time and leeway his pawn allowed, the private swung around behind the wagon mules and stampeded them in the direction of his enemy.

Following his comrades north the brutish ex-soldier shoved the woman off his horse to lessen its load.

Larabee heeled his horse around to check on her.

The mules bolted and ran directly at JD as he lifted Tommy from the ground.

"JD!" Buck called. He knew that between the boy, his gun and controlling his own pony, this new challenge was too much for his young friend. The reins were still wrapped around Dusty's saddle horn. Bullets from the retreating gunmen bit at the ground at the hooves of all the animals.

Buck kneed his horse between JD, the larger animals and the salvo. The child securely on the saddle with him, JD worked to loosen his reins.

Buck's big gray shouldered into JD's smaller pony with enough force that JD lost his grip and the reins fell to the ground. One rein wrapped itself around Paladin's leg and pulled just enough for the dapple to go down. The horse fell to its knees and, because his reflexes were impaired by his injuries, Buck rolled over the animal's neck.

Pal rose, reared and pawed the air in fear, but seemed to make a conscious effort not to harm the man in front of her. The mules on the other hand ran over him.

Buck turned his back to the hooves and protected his head with his arms.

"Buck!" JD and Josiah called at the same time.

Chris looked up at their tone of voice. His attention was dragged back to the woman as she dug her fingers into the denim of his jeans. "My baby! Asa! My baby!" She was beside herself.

Somehow he knew she meant a child was in the burning wagon. Then it registered for the first time - the cries of an infant above the roar of the flames. Vin heard the cries as well and was in the wagon in a heartbeat.

Chris snapped. These men had almost given up a newborn to the flames; no more to them than a diversion while they made good their escape. He spurred his horse viciously and lay low over the saddle. They would pay. Kestrel and Josiah were with him; matching his pace as best they could. They rode past Nathan and Jonathan. They rode past where JD was tending to Buck and the boy. Chris never looked back.

Vin threw the tumble of boxes and valises out of his way. He coughed and his eyes watered as he fought through the smoke. Near the front of the wagon he finally found the homemade wooden cradle and the baby. At the same time he saw the flames licking at the keg of black powder near the back of the Conestoga.

Buck considered himself exceedingly lucky. He only felt one metal shod hoof connect. It hit his left forearm as he protected his head. When the danger was past and he cautiously looked around.

He felt Chris, Josiah and Kestrel sail by.

He saw Vin leap into the burning wagon.

Dizziness and nausea told him he had done some damage to his original injuries. He wanted to rise and help, but he couldn't. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead on the ground and tried to fight off the effects. He felt hands trying to check on him and knew it was JD. _Just give me a minute._ He thought to himself.

And then the earth shook.

When he looked up, the fiery remnants of the wagon were raining down around them. Where was... "Vin?" He was barely audible. He looked up to see his own horror reflected in JD's face. Then a gauzy darkness started to move in from his peripheral vision and finally shut out his surroundings and conscious thought.


	11. Chapter 11

Ezra's bare feet were leaving a thin blood trail as he was led inside the prisoner of war camp. The rocks and thorns had done their damage. He was limping despite himself. The soldiers had only occasionally cantered their horses at a gait that made keeping up difficult. But the noose was undignified and was rubbing rope burns around his neck. The back of his shirt was stiff and tacky from dried blood.

The gash on his shoulder blade stung and the sweat only made it worse. The damn blue bottle flies were insufferable. He felt every bite from the blood-sucking horse flies. The irritating gnats and no-see-'ums buzzing around for the moisture in his eyes were the most maddening. With his bound hands limiting his reach he had to endure the little devils. He forced their ever-present, torturous annoyance to the back of his mind as he cataloged his surroundings for future use.

The double fences of barbed wire that defined the boundaries of this prison would only slow down and not prevent an attempted escape. But that would be enough. It would give the armed guards who paced outside the wire enough time to use their rifles as a more permanent solution to any such effort. As far as the guards themselves, they appeared confident and alert. Too bad.

Ragged, overcrowded tents passed as shelter. A creek that ran though the prison had been damned up and was stagnant. He could smell it from here.

The land was still dead and yellow from the winter months. The grass was almost the same color as the rocks. Limestone outcrops rose both inside and outside the compound but offered no avenues for escape.

The men within the camp looked sick, beaten and defeated. If there had been any attempt at sanitation, it had apparently been given up to apathy as the men's incarceration dragged on. Most of the captives barely glanced up to acknowledge the new arrival.

Outside of the wire, the guards seemed to live a little better than their charges. There had been slats of wood braced against the tents here to add protection from the elements. Campfires seemed to supply a constant source of warmth and coffee for the watchmen.

There was one small, solid wood cabin erected among the guard's tents. The door to the cabin opened. Ezra felt bile well up in his throat as the man stepped out onto the small porch. His hair was a course, unkempt gray. His potbelly hung over his belt like fallen yeast bread. He held the riding crop under one arm. His one squinty pig eye fell on Ezra immediately. The other eye was sewn shut and an ugly white scar ran through it from his forehead to his chin. He paraded over. The taller man with him sauntered along pacifyingly.

Ezra forced himself not to draw back when they approached. A history passed between their eyes. Bridger ran his riding crop from Ezra's shoulder to his belt. "Well EZ, I hear the name is really Standish." He droned. Ezra didn't respond. He looked Standish over from head to toe and noticed the torn feet. He turned to Jordan. "Why's he walking?"

"He let his horse go."

Bridger laughed out loud. "Afraid we'd eat it?"

"I simply abhorred the thought that you might ride such a noble animal."

"There's never no tellin' what you're gonna care about is there?" He studied the small man in front of him. "But I will figure it out. And then you will come to me. On my terms this time. You will beg me to let you come to me." He waited for a reaction.

The gambler's poker face served him well. Bridger was even the first to break eye contact. He had to turn his body to move the eye contact and acknowledge the man beside him. "This is Benjamin Francis Carlisle. He is the commandant at our little facility. He will be the judge in your trial."

"And my defense council?"

"Still insolent? We'll see how long that lasts. Maybe you should spend the first night in the pit. For old times sake." Bridger laughed again. "Enjoy yourself. Drop him in, boys."

Buck thought he was dead when he heard Vin's soft drawl calling to him. "Hey, Pard? Buck? Can you open your eyes for me?" Buck thought about it, but wasn't quiet ready. It didn't feel too warm; in fact there was a chill in the air. Maybe they weren't in hell just yet. It'd be rough on Chris, losing both of them. And the Kid probably never lost anyone close other than his Ma. Nathan would feel guilty...

"Nathan, I think he's wakin' up. You got any more of that tea made?" Nathan? Tea? It was hell. Buck smiled. He finally opened his eyes and met the tracker's relieved grin. "Welcome back."

"I thought you got blown to kingdom-come."

"Aw, hell, I was closer to the front of the wagon than the back. Figured that was the quickest way out."

"Good thinking."

Buck started to chuckle before it turned into a harsh cough.

Vin smiled wider. Buck wasn't exactly with them yet. "What's so funny?"

"Thought I was dead, but maybe I'd skirted hell, 'til I heard you call Nathan for that tea."

Vin's laugh was mixed with a healthy dose of relief. "Felt that way a few times myself."

"Very funny. Get away from my patient." Nathan fussed good-naturedly. He was glad to see Buck as alert as he appeared.

Buck tried to set up and grimaced. He had to freeze for a moment to fight the pain.

"Let that be a lesson to ya." Nathan lectured. "Don't move. You didn't do your head any good." He talked to himself as much as the lady's man. "I can't keep that gash on your back clean enough out here that you ain't gonna fight a little infection and fever. And now you've got a hoof mark nearly to the bone."

"Hell, Nathan... "

"If it was JD wouldn't that be enough of a reason for you to make him lie still?"

Buck nodded, unable to say more through the pain. Nathan realized this and sympathetically and with infinite care helped him drink the tonic.

A call from across the way got Nathan's attention and he moved away from Buck with the last reprimand, "Rest. Sleep. Don't move."

Nathan turned out to be responding to a call from the wounded rebel soldier.

Kestrel appeared at Buck's side as soon as he was alone. "How's everyone doing?" Buck asked.

"Sodbuster'll live. The baby's fine. It's Ma's shaken up. Josiah's a little worse off than bruises and scratches. Vin landed rough when he jumped out of the front of the wagon with the baby."

Buck laughed at Clay's words, went out the front of the wagon, not the back. Just that simple. Buck was almost embarrassed to have been so worried, but then he remembered the look on JD's face and knew he hadn't been alone in thinking the worst.

"Bonner?"

"Grazed along the side. Painful but not dangerous. He'll ride with us tomorrow."

"What time do we leave?"

"Sunrise. But you're going back with the young family over there."

"What?"

"Chris says it's for the best. You're not fit to keep up."

"Your man's riding." Buck coughed. He was on a slow boil.

"I let my men make their own decisions."

"Nobody decides for me."

Clay's continuingly cool, almost pacifying attitude intentionally left the impression Larabee had said more. "I know how hard it is to stand up to Larabee."

"I ain't never backed down from that man. What did he say?"

In response, Kestrel stood up, tossed a full bottle of whiskey to the wounded man lying beside him and grinned, "I suggest you not let them catch you with it this time."

Buck already had the bottle to his lips before Kestrel walked away trying to hide the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Ezra tried to relax in the hole in the ground. At least he could sit. He remembered the other one, too narrow to sit, bars on top that kept a man from standing erect. He could tolerate this.

Small clouds of condensation formed with each breath. He had been cold and hungry before, but he had to admit, it hadn't seemed this desolate in a long time. Lately, if he was suffering the elements. it was with one of the other seven lawmakers. Misery loves company, he mused. And considering where he was, the isolation was preferable to the alternative. _So put your observation skills to work._ He told himself.

He could hear coughing and soft moans from the prisoners. The guards were calling to each other, so they had a night shift. He would have to wait until he could observe them to see how alert or lax they were in that assignment.

A plan. Unfortunately everything he came up with involved the assistance of others. He had lost a measurable degree of his self-sufficiency. He had come to rely on the others being there. So why the hell weren't they? _Because you didn't ask them. You didn't tell them what was going on. Were you afraid they wouldn't help you?_ Granted he'd been careful to never test the loyalty as it applied to himself beyond the peacekeeping duties, but what's the worse that could have happened? They could say no? Oh, god, they could say no. The illusion would be gone.

 _Stop it. Think._ Now that he had the location of this hell on earth, the easiest escape would be on his own and go for help. But would that be considered running out on these others? _Damn you, Mr. Larabee, there may be times when one must run._ But what if that caused them to move their camp? What if they chose to kill the witnesses?

There was always the chance Kestrel and his rebel soldiers would actually find the place.

Maybe when Mr. Wilmington had related his story to the others... if he was still alive. No. Don't think like that. If that's what you would dwell on, maybe that's enough thought for tonight. On some level he knew he was giving Bridger too much credit, but putting him here, leaving him alone with his thoughts and memories... if he wasn't careful it could do more damage than physical pain. _So remember that and don't let it happen._ Ezra admonished himself. At least he was thinking. There were options, just none of them good.


	12. Chapter 12

JD made sure he did his share to set up camp, but as soon as he could, he was at Buck's side reassuring himself that Nathan's prognosis was correct.

Buck smiled at the way Tommy followed his new hero around like a puppy dog. The youngster had been shy about coming over to Buck at first, but JD's encouragement got him over there and Buck won him over in short order.

Seems the boy had one of those Jock Steele dime novels his dad had read to him again and again. As far as he was concerned Tommy was in the presence of legends. He explained to Buck that his dad was going to be all right.

Buck and JD reminded him how brave his dad was to fight for his family when he was so outnumbered. Tommy smiled proudly. He said that Mr. Larabee and Mr. Tanner had given them the bad mens' horses and they would get to ride them to the nearest town tomorrow. They had even found Mr. Standish's horse, Tommy explained. He wasn't exactly sure why the horse was out here riderless. The adults whispered a lot around him. But he knew Mr. Standish from the dime novel and was proud to have helped JD care for the animal.

Buck checked out the camp as he listened to the boy. It was getting dark. He was feeling less pain, more because of the now almost empty bottle he had hidden beside him than the various remedies Nathan forced on him on a regular basis.

Nathan and Josiah were setting up camp.

Tommy's mother, holding the baby, was beside her husband, but could be heard insisting she be allowed to help with the meal. Apparently JD and Tommy had come up with a wild turkey and some rock squirrels.

Being told about that hunt by an excited eight-year-old entertained and almost distracted the injured man, but he kept looking for Larabee. Chris, Vin, Carson and Darby who were unaccounted for. Who was Larabee to decide that he wasn't "fit" to ride. The potential for confrontation went up as the liquid in the bottle Clay had given him went down.

"Hey, kid," Clay walked up and looked to JD, "You reckon you can show young Tommy how to clean the supper you brought in?" JD took it as a challenge. He also enjoyed being the teacher for a change, showing someone younger than him the ways of the West.

Buck smiled at him as the boy up and headed off.

"And skin that damn turkey. I don't want to wait until you can get it plucked." Clay handed Buck another bottle. Across the way Nathan and Josiah just missed the by-play. And they didn't see how Clay turned to their friend with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Good thing I know your Johnny Reb partner is tougher than he looks."

Buck looked up at his old friend for an explanation to that statement. "I guess I know a might what he's going through about now. Makes it hard sitting here, licking our wounds." Buck took another drink. "Hey, I didn't mean you, Buck." It came out as a lie.

The two men shared the bottle and conversation until the total darkness of a moonless prairie night wrapped around them. Kestrel seemed to apologize for a lot of things, and everything sounded righteous. But it also carefully reminded Buck why he had left in the first place. He made Buck feel like a burden that Chris was too forgiving to chase away.

Chris was healing around the others Kestrel mused out loud, not forgetting the love from his past, but forgetting the pain. Except Buck being there was a physical reminder of that pain because he had been a part of it. The others weren't. Clay wasn't. Clay was before. "I just don't understand, Big Dog, I don't see here what I used to see when you two rode together. If you're not staying out of friendship, it must be guilt."

Buck was trying to tell himself the other man's words were wrong, that he was misinterpreting the way things were in Four Corners. But he was tired, and he was hot then he was cold, his head felt like cotton batting was separating his thoughts from each other.

Clay was making more sense than Buck's own jumbled thinking. "If you're staying to ease your own guilt, you're trying to make yourself feel better at Chris's expense."

Buck's fever and alcohol glazed eyes met those of the other man. The reasons he had left were even clearer than before. He had been right to get out of these men's lives. "You got any business that could keep you from stayin' in Four Corners a while?" Buck asked hesitantly.

Kestrel smiled. He encouraged Buck to drinking harder. He was even more careful not to let Josiah or Nathan see him. He didn't want to give up the whiskey now and the man beside him was a willing co-conspirator.

While he and Kestrel were both careful that Nathan didn't catch them, Buck's movements, stiff from his injuries, also reflected the over-exaggerated, overly cautious gestures of intoxication. This drew Josiah's attention to the men as Buck lifted the bottle. "Nathan?" Josiah questioned.

The healer followed his friend's gaze just as the whiskey bottle disappeared at Buck's side. "Aw, Hell... " Nathan snapped.

"Can it hurt? To let him drink a little? Maybe it'll help him sleep tonight." Knowing how he himself had often been able to find slumber in a bottle when nothing else could help.

"If it'd been white willow bark tea, maybe. That stuff I gave him mixed with whiskey and on top of a head wound... " Nathan shook his head as he moved in Buck's direction. He should have checked on that rounder earlier. Later Nathan and Josiah would regret it even more. They would have smelled the alcohol. If they had noticed the time Kestrel was spending alone with their injured friend they would have done something about it.

"Where's Chris been?" Buck asked as he took another swig.

"Buryin' the dead." The cultured gunfighter replied.

"All of 'em?" Chris had killed them all? It was the first time he had cared to ask about the men whose attack they had fought off.

"Oh, yeah. Apparently didn't take kindly to them trying to kill that young family. When the wagon caught on fire? I think he went a little crazy there for a time." Buck nodded understanding. Clay continued with measured words. "Hell, he didn't even slow down to look at you. I remember a time when Chris would have cared more about that fall you took than revenge." Buck didn't respond to the statement.

Nathan, crossing the campsite, wasn't close enough to hear what was being said. But even in the dim firelight he saw an intense, measureless hurt suddenly reflected in his friend's eyes and picked up his pace with every intention of getting that bottle and the troublemaker away from his patient.

But someone did hear. A shadow moved and separated from the rest of the darkness.

Chris Larabee materialized out of the night and viciously kicked Kestrel away from his friend. "That's before we had five others to help watch our backs, you son-of-a-bitch." Before anyone could react, the leader of the seven dragged the tall shootist to his feet so that he could deliver two more punches. His anger, nowhere near spent, he backhanded the other man to the dirt. "What are you trying to do?" Chris continued after Kestrel.

Raven hair swirling around his face, Clay Kestrel came back to his feet with the quickness of a big cat. Vin backed Chris. Suddenly Kestrel was flanked by Carson, Bonner and Darby.

Nathan and Josiah arrived to stand the ground with their partners, but with cooler heads. Chris and Vin, Kestrel and his posse all had their coats behind their holsters and hands at their weapons.

"Chris? Chris!" The dark gunman never moved his eyes, but Josiah could sense he was listening. "We have a bigger enemy now. Ezra's life is at stake - over 100 other men. This will keep. Then I'll help you tear the jackal apart. In fact, you'll have to beat me to it."

Jonathan Zimmerman and his wife watched in horror. It seemed as if two titans of equal power and authority were facing off. The tall men watched each others eyes in the flickering light the campfire provided. They came to a silent agreement. This was in abatement. This was not over. The body language relaxed. The hands, in mutual agreement moved from the gun butts. The men they rode with relaxed in response to this diminished tension.

Chris remembered why he had been so angry with this man. He turned and was appalled to see that Buck was shitfaced drunk. "What the hell is that?" He asked Nathan, his voice accusatory.

"Ask him." Josiah growled and nodded toward Kestrel.

"Never saw him go at it so hard." Nathan wondered how they had missed Wilmington drinking at all, much less so much.

With a rare look of misgiving, Chris approached his old friend. "Give me the bottle, Pard."

"Let it be." Buck's slurred voice came back at him.

"Don't need to be drinkin' like that, you know."

"Tell me something, Chris." Buck threw a look at Clay before he continued. "That first day back in Four Corners, if you hadn't needed somebody stupid enough to follow you on a suicide mission, would you have even let me know you were in town?"

"What else did you say to him?" Chris spun back on Clay, anger mounting all over again.

It took Vin, Josiah and Nathan to hold their leader away from the man who had been creating this situation from the beginning.

Buck didn't care about Clay Kestrel, and he wasn't going to let Larabee use the man to deflect this confrontation. "Answer me, damn it!"

Larabee wanted to get his hands on Kestrel, to feel his fists pummel the man. He wanted the tall outrider to fight back until they were both barely able to stand. He wanted a physical confrontation not the one waiting behind him now. He wanted the person responsible to pay. He wanted to convince himself that person was Kestrel and not himself. The man in black turned back and assessed his oldest friend. There was a barely perceptible hesitation before he answered. "I don't know."

Well, at least Chris never lied to him, Buck laughed. "I'm tired."

Tired and suffering more from his injuries than he was willing to admit, Nathan judged.

"You're drunk." He heard their leader respond. And the gentle healer wished there had been more thought put into the response, perhaps more compassion.

"I'm tired. Tired of trying and never being good enough." Apparently Larabee wasn't capable of giving more, and Wilmington wasn't capable of expecting more.

JD, returning with Tommy, stopped dead in his tracks. He had never heard Buck sound defeated before. He looked around the camp to try to get some clue as to what was going on.

The Zimmermans' were almost cringing away from the emotions they felt around them.

Vin was listening to the conversation, but his eyes were blue daggers directed in Clay's reaction.

Josiah and Nathan were whispering demands to the rebels.

Kestrel, close enough to hear, signaled for the three men to comply. With no vested interest other than curiosity, Carson and his men obeyed. They moved to the Zimmermans' and Tommy and escorted them out of earshot of this confrontation.

"So you ride out on us? That's gonna make you 'good enough'." That came out wrong, _I'm no good at this._ "No, that came out wrong… " Before Larabee could rephrase his words and ask his oldest friend where those thoughts came from, he got the answer:

"I left Clay watchin' your back. What more could you ask?"

"Damn it, Buck"

"You rode out. I rode out. You're the one who went off looking for killers all alone because it suited you. Not tellin' anyone where you were or if you'd be back. Or if you were just trying to get yourself killed! And how long were you gone?" A series of coughs broke into Buck's anger. He had to compose himself and get beyond the pain and exhaustion. Nathan tried to feel his brow. The lanky shootist brushed him away. Somehow Buck struggled up. This was a showdown he felt should be met eye to eye. He continued to speak as he worked his way unsteadily to his feet. "If I'd gone to visit a lady or Ezra'd gone to Eagle Bend for a poker game, you'd make sure there was hell to pay. No, Chris. You're the one who runs out."

"Judge not, least ye be judged." Josiah murmured as if this moment had been inevitable.

Guilt, regret - anger. That's the emotion Chris Larabee could deal with and the one he latched onto. And that's how Chris reacted, "That's different! I was looking for the killer of my family." "You know why it's different? Because I might find some little filly. Ezra could probably find a game. You might find Ella. You ain't' gonna find your ghosts!" He was breathing hard, now, gasping between words, but would not be stopped.

"What would you know about it?" Chris tried not to lose his temper, but Buck knew every low blow when he was like this and Chris couldn't help but respond.

"Oh, hell," Buck laughed. "I know all about it. I've been chasin' the ghost of a friend for goin' on four years now. Sometimes I think I've found him. But it's always just the ghost."

"You've had enough, Buck," Nathan thought to stop this altercation before Buck exhausted himself to a point where he was endangering his health.

"Don't worry about me." Buck insisted.

Larabee's next words brought Nathan up short. "How about we worry about everyone else when you can't... "

"Can't what? When have I ever not been there? After you stuck a straight edge to my throat and then asked me to go against 8 to one odds?... did I doubt Josiah when he was accused of murderer? Did I put Ezra out there where he is now because I was feeling sorry for myself? Was I the one who started to side with the town when the kid accidentally shot... " Buck was coughing so hard he could barely be understood.

"Chris, you've got to stop this." Nathan appealed.

"You doubted Vin would bring in Chanu." Chris's words came out at the same time as Nathan's. He slapped the bottle of red eye out of Buck's hand. _Why am I letting him pull me into this?_ _When did they start fighting like this?_ The two old friends were oblivious to anything around them.

"That's because friendship blinds Vin!" Buck staggered back into the saddles. He couldn't even open his eyes, as he observed sadly, "Know the difference this time, Pard? I don't care anymore. This time I don't want to stay."

"No one asked you to stay!" Damn, he'd played right into that one; as soon as he said it he knew. The silence around them reached a new level. It was like no one was breathing.

"And we're right back where I was trying to be!" Buck's voice was going. _How could he be so stubborn as to keep going?_ Nathan thought.

Vin turned his eyes to Clay Kestrel. The son of a bitch was enjoying this. How had that man set all of this in motion?

"I didn't mean that. I... " Chris began.

Buck didn't interrupt him as much as appear to not even hear him. There was a deep sadness, but acceptance when he added, "Hell, Chris, we've been barely breakin' even for so long... I just wouldn't let go of something you knew was over a long time ago." Buck finally let his pain and drunkenness and regrets reach him and he collapsed back against the saddles.

Nathan hurried to his side and was easily able to overpower his weak attempts to rise again. Chris, worriedly started forward as well. Nathan turned and started to his feet. Chris and Buck where going to have to get through him to get to each other any more tonight.

Vin recognized Nathan's protective streak kick in. "Chris. Leave him be. Let Nathan tend to him. You ain't gonna gain nothin' talkin' to him now." Vin took his best friend's shoulder to lead him away from the confrontation.

Larabee looked down at his oldest friend. "I am glad we hooked back up in Four Corners." He shrugged away from Vin's supportive hand, turned and was gone without waiting for a reaction.

Buck watched his back with a hint of hope through the alcohol dulled eyes.

A feral smile had been on Clay's face the entire confrontation. That last sentence - a glimmer of something not yet dead - Vin watched the smile leave Clay's face. _Damn. What would it take to break those two up?_ Kestrel cursed to himself.

Clay moved to follow Larabee into the night. Vin made sure his path blocked the ex-Union soldier's way to his friend. He found that Josiah was by his side.

Josiah matched his giant form to Kestrel's. "If I ever see you within shouting distance of either of those men again, I'll kill you. If I ever find out we don't need you and yours to do this job, and you're still around, I'll kill you."

The rogue backed away and damned if he didn't act like he still held a winning hand. 


	13. Chapter 13

For the first time, Vin noticed JD, pale and shaken, standing apart from the others. He joined the boy, put an arm around his shoulders in a brotherly gesture and guided him to Wilmington. "He's feeling right poorly, now, son. I think you could let him things aren't as bad as they look."

JD hurried over to his best friend. It had never even occurred to him that Buck would think the others would chose sides between him and Chris. Thousands of other questions spun in his head, but he tried to hide them as he knelt beside Buck and Nathan. "Is he okay? Nathan?"

"Tired himself out."

"Buck, please be okay." Buck patted the boy reassuringly on the arm, his eyes stayed closed and he concentrated on the physical pains to wipe away the emotional ones. He didn't realize when he fell asleep.

Nathan and JD stayed nearby even though it was clear that exhaustion would keep him unconscious for several hours.

"JD?" Vin hesitated. "Something on you mind?"

"It's nothing."

"I've seen a nothin' of a splinter fester up and damn near kill a man." Nathan volunteered. Vin shot him an appreciative glance. He wasn't good at words.

"Is that what's happened to Buck and Chris?"

"Maybe. In a way." Nathan admitted. He waited. JD was staring into the fire. "JD?" Swiping his long dark bangs behind his ear, he glanced up. Brown eyes met brown. But the boy's were suddenly old beyond their years.

"You look like a lost quail chick, son." No response. "Talking about it can help."

"You couldn't understand." How could they understand that he wanted his confident and over-protected Buck back? He wanted to believe Chris Larabee was bigger than life and never made mistakes. Nathan and Vin shared knowing looks over the young man's head. _Wait for it._ This is where Buck and the kid differed. JD couldn't hold back. "I guess I'm a little afraid."

"We all understand fear, believe me." Nathan offered.

"I don't understand... Buck doesn't want to be here and Chris doesn't care? I don't know what's happening and I don't know if I did something wrong... There's no danger of gunfights or getting shot or messing up. But I'm scared of things goin' the way they are. I don't guess a man's supposed to feel that way. I don't see how you could understand."

"Fightin's easy. A man with a gun can't hurt you like harsh words or disappointment from family. You gotta care a lot about someone to stick around after that."

"Buck didn't stick around."

"He didn't get far though, before Chris was right there after him, did he?" Vin smiled at the look of encouragement that lit up their youngest's eyes. "Dragged us all along to make sure he got back, too. I think this is some process they go through. Damned if I can figure out why."

"Do you get mad at Buck?" Nathan asked. JD didn't want to answer. So the healer saved him having to say the words. "Could it ever be so bad you wanted him gone?" He didn't force that answer either. "Buck and Chris ain't gonna lose each other. And we ain't gonna let 'em."

JD sat for a minute. He contemplated the fire. He wanted to believe his friends. He looked at their faces and saw resolve. He wanted to believe. It was so complicated. But Chris and Buck didn't give up. They were too smart to throw away everything they had in Four Corners. Hell, yeah, he'd believe. He'd believe in Chris and Buck and he would believe in Vin and Nathan. He would believe in himself and Josiah and Ezra... they were a family. And they did care enough to get over - over anything.

He smiled and jumped up. "I gotta go talk to Tommy. I think he was pretty upset seein' as he only knows us from that Jock Steele book. I better go set him straight." And he was off. He would share his knew understanding with the youngster. Nathan and Vin realized they had convinced themselves while convincing the kid. _We may damn near be invincible._ Nathan smiled. Vin smiled back.

Chris had gone for a long walk; the entire perimeter of their camp. With no blanket of clouds to hold it in, the heat had escaped quickly into the late winter night. You could almost smell the frost in the air. Tomorrow the same clear sky would probably let the temperatures rise well above average for this time of year.

It was too early in the year for the sound of insects, but the coyotes were calling to each other. The cedars, mesquites and oaks rustled west to east when a breeze cut through them. The moon had moved a good quarter of the way across the sky in the time he was gone. And only now did he allow the thoughts to come. First he had to tame the emotions, the regrets, the anger. Only now would he think about what had happened.

 _God, Buck_ A sad smile crossed Larabee's lips. _You might be easy going, but it's because you know how to cut to the heart of a problem and stab at it with words better than even Ezra could ever hope._ He'd never say those things when he was sober, Chris realized. Not because they weren't true, not because I didn't deserve it, but because he knew how words could hurt. That was a lot of the reason Buck watched himself so closely as to how much he drank.

Chris found himself at the horses. He ran a gentle, appreciative hand across his own horse's neck. "Hey, Habanero." He remembered when Buck insisted on the name for the horse. His friend had been helping him break the outlaw-pony, when he got kicked in the ribs and laid up for two weeks for his effort.

Some pretty senorita had recently convinced the lady's man to try one of the small orange peppers. Chris had thought the thing might cause actual physical damage from the reaction it got. Buck was sweating from the second he put it in his mouth. His eyes watered and he couldn't seem to get enough air to ask for water. Chris had laughed for two days over that.

Habanero. The name seemed to suit the hot-tempered gelding. And Paladin, Buck's own horse. Chris begrudgingly admitted he liked the sound of it. Buck had immediately shortened it to Pal. Appropriate. Short and to the point. They'd sure seen a lot together.

Ezra's horse was content to be among the others that he traveled with regularly. The gunfighter thought about the gambler. He _must not like his chances._ Chris mused. Larabee knew why their errant companion had chased the animal away; had seen it as it happened. The horse would be free. It wouldn't share it's master's road this time; not when the odds were this low.

He wished there was some way to let Ezra know they were coming for him. That they were there for him. _Huh_ Larabee snorted derisively. _I can't let Buck know I'm there for him when we're face to face. That damn Southerner's right to save his companionship for the horse._ Chris felt a presence behind him. He knew his men so well he didn't have to turn around to sense who was there. "What makes a friend, Josiah?"

The ex-preacher moved closer. "I'm not sure that's a fair question." The big man paused and really thought about the question - possibly for the first time in his life. And he thought about it for himself as well as the man in black; the man he hoped to comfort. Then he answered for himself and for Chris. "I think it's one of those things that raise humans above other animals. It's more than loyalty. It's certainly not obedience. There's been people I have a lot in common with - I don't like them much." Chris chuckled. "I think admiration has to be there - the way they live their lives, or fight obstacles. It's something someone sees or feels about another person. A look, a single word said, a word not said... And respect. You have to be just as proud that they call you friend as they are the other way around." Josiah waited but didn't get a response. "You can say something anytime so I can stop rambling." He smiled. Still no response. "What does it mean to you?"

Chris was surprised by the question. "Pain. Worry. Josiah, those times Buck brought up... "

"Forget it. Ain't askin' you to admit anything. But Chris, not admitting you care, to yourself or others, ain't gonna change how you do feel. Not being here if we need help ain't gonna make the pain any less when you hear one of us went down. But how are you gonna feel when you realize being here might have changed the outcome? You weren't there for your family. That wasn't anyone's fault, but do you feel better or worse for not being able to try?" He let that sink in. "We're not talking about friendship, here, Chris. We're talking about brothers. Brothers who choose to be brothers. Don't rightly remember ever seeing it go so deep or mean so much as it does to this group. I don't want to lose that."

"How much worse could I have torn that up back there with Buck?"

Josiah thought he was about to get Chris Larabee to open up, about to let go of the emotions he held inside and that festered as anger. Just a few more words - but suddenly gunshots echoed from the camp. Guns drawn, Chris and Josiah ran to protect the others.

Buck wasn't sure where he was. He was riding Pal hard. He could see smoke over the treetops. The wagon? The surroundings didn't look right, but they felt familiar. He wasn't alone. Vin, Nathan, and Josiah followed him. Vin fell from his horse. As Josiah and Nathan helped him up, Buck could see angry red burns on Vin's hands and face. Buck never dismounted. He reached down and gathered the reins of his friends' horses. "Josiah, get them in that scrub brush over there." He could feel they were being pursued, but couldn't remember who or why. Who was trying to break them up?

"No time, Buck. They're not far behind... what are you doin'?"

"They're following the horses' trail. They'll never know you're still here." Buck adjusted his grip on the reins.

"We stick together." Josiah grabbed the reins of Buck's horse.

"Not this time." Buck used his boot to Josiah's stomach to shove the man away; quickly gathered up the reins and pulled the horses down stream. "Get to cover."

Pal stretched out in response to Buck's urging. They broke the tree line. The flames licked around the wagon in front... no, not a wagon. He was still too far to make out details, but it was not the Zimmerman wagon, but Chris's house. Sarah and Adam were inside.

The flames were only now licking at the walls. He was hot, as if the flames were already reaching him. His muscles seemed sluggish, but Paladin was like the wind. She would get him to where he needed to be - to what he needed to get done.

For some reason he was being given another chance. It niggled at the back of his mind that it didn't make sense, but it was blocked by the need to succeed, to save Sarah and Adam, save Chris. He refused to take the time to question why he was alone; why Chris wasn't beside him.

And so he rode. But as he came closer he saw it was not the cabin, not death and dying ashes; no not smoking embers... not a chance forever lost... not... not Chris's house. It was Nettie's ranch house alive with flames. "Nooooo!" He pushed Paladin. He could hear Nettie and Casey's cry for help from inside. JD was there. He could see him as he drew closer. He was trying to get to them. And then there were the men. Coming from behind, the ex-Union soldiers, shooting, horses racing forward, they were trying to stop him.

Almost there. Together he and JD would get the women out.

One of the horses trailing him took a bullet and fell unmoving on the ground. Its reins, ripped from Buck's hands, became entangled in the big mare's hooves. She went down, but looked no worse for the wear. It was just like the fall at the wagon.

The soldiers caught up to Buck. Now one held his left arm and the other his right. Buck, on his knees, still struggled until the third soldier, his hand fisted in Buck's hair delivered a vicious blow to Buck's knife wound. Buck's back arched. He gritted his teeth to avoid screaming with the pain. The man pulled back for another strike. This time Buck recognized the man. It was Clay. No, it was Chris. Chris was keeping him from getting to JD and Casey and Nettie.

No. Chris and he could have it out, could end everything, but not at the expense of the others. Nathan and Vin and Josiah had been left behind, now JD could not get the help he needed to save his future because Buck and Chris were at odds again. Buck, enraged, pull back and freed his right arm. He pummeled the man who held his left. The problems between him and Chris were tearing the others apart. It had to stop. Fighting for survival Buck pulled the gun from one attacker's holster, aimed it in Chris's direction and fired.

Everyone asleep around the campfire awoke to gunfire. They had their own weapons in their hands before they were fully awake. Instinctively checking to see that everyone was safe, Vin noticed Josiah and Chris were missing.

Nathan, immediately awake, took in the situation in a glance and held his hand out in an order for the ex-Confederates to lower their guns. He saw Buck kneeling on the ground in front of the campfire; gun aimed at everyone across the fire from him. But he could tell that Buck, fevered and drunk and sick, was seeing something else.

It was too late. The roof of the house toppled in on itself. JD turned lost, dead eyes to Buck - the same eyes that had looked back at him for three years from Chris's face. "Buck, don't... don't let it happen... " JD pleaded.

One man stood between them; separated him from the boy and his grief. He couldn't see the man's face clearly, but his swirling thoughts told him it was Chris, but no... Buck again fired into the night, "Damn you!"

"Buck" He heard a soothing voice.

Chris and Josiah had run back to the campfire to find Buck pointing the gun into the darkness. No one dared to move except Chris who unhesitatingly stepped forward to protect his friend from himself and demons brought on by the alcohol and fever; demons no one else could see. "It's me. Chris."

He could tell Buck's eyes weren't focused; that he didn't know where he was or what was happening. "Buck, put the gun down." The gun wavered but from the holder's weakness, not any tendency by the holder to lower the weapon.

"Leave me alone!"

"I can't do that."

"Why? You did it in Texas. You did it in Sweetwater."

"Buck, you're dreaming. Wake up."

"Now Casey's dead and Nettie. Where are Vin and Josiah? Nathan!" As much as he wanted to come forward and treat his friend, as he called to him, Nathan knew he must let Chris deal with him in this condition. Buck's back was bleeding again.

"Buck, it's a dream. You're dreaming. C'mon, follow my voice."

"Chris?" The gun lowered slightly.

"Vin and Josiah are right here. Nettie and Casey are safe." Buck squinted to recognize the face he thought was Chris and who he thought was destroying his family. He never saw the face before it dissolved into wispy curls of memory, but he knew Chris's hair was never that jet black, and he hadn't worn it that long since…

"Chris?" The voice was a little more coherent.

Chris knew at that moment he was in no danger from his old friend and gently removed the gun from his hand. Buck continued rambling. "How long?" Buck looked pleadingly into the hazel eyes for an answer.

"Let Nathan look at you." Chris didn't know what Buck was asking. For the moment he was concerned with his physical well-being and what he might have done to re-injure himself.

"I wasn't there again." Buck said with a deep sadness.

"Buck, wake up." Nathan whispered. Once Chris had defused the situation, he was quickly at their friend's side.

Caught between sleep and wakefulness and unsure what was real, Buck heard and recognized Nathan's voice, but sought out a familiar safe haven. "Chris?"

"Come back to your friends."

"I can't. I can't come back." His eyes met Chris's and he spoke to him alone. "If I stay, if I do something careless... if someone... if Casey gets hurt... JD turns out like you... "

The words hit Chris like a physical thing. His eyes cut to the boy and then back to his old friend. "Buck, listen to me. That's not what's happened." He took the man's face between his hands. "Buck, it's not your fault. JD! Get over here." JD slid to a stop on his knees beside Chris. Buck's eyes moved his way, but didn't seem to focus. "JD tell him you're okay."

"Buck, I'm fine. No one's hurt."

Nathan slowly examined Buck's eyes. He was for all intents and purposes unconscious and unaware of his surroundings. "Let me take him, Chris. The whiskey and the head injury have everything running together for him." The man in black hesitated. "He won't remember any of this tomorrow. We all need to rest tonight and straighten things out in the morning."

"He's not going with us tomorrow. Not in this condition." Larabee charged.

"I'll help you with that tomorrow." There was an authority to the healer's voice that demanded obedience. "You should get some rest." Chris hesitantly agreed.

The black-clad gunman sat quietly until Buck finally dozed off and seemed to be resting peacefully. Then he left him with Nathan and JD. Vin and Bonner had just taken the night watch and would later be relieved by Carson and Kestrel.

Kestrel. Larabee didn't dare approach that man right now. He wanted to tear him apart and they would need all the help they could get until Ezra and the others were safe. There would be time for everything else later. And the part of him conditioned as a soldier let him sleep relatively soundly through the night because he knew he would need the rest in the days to come.

Ezra followed the man around the compound. He wasn't an imposing man, instead being of rather average build and stature. But he was a fighter. He didn't give up and he didn't want others to give up although, and Ezra could see this in his eyes, it was a struggle to maintain the mask of optimism.

Most of the men here were sick and weak and malnourished. The filth and constant intimidation by the guards beat them down further. Never knowing when someone would be dragged from the group and executed for all to see... of course it was nerve wracking. It had been back then… _No, this is now._

He had known the other prisoners were all watching him from the moment he was dragged from that damnable pit. He sat alone and thanked the unpredictable February weather for warming up and chasing the chill from his bones. With Kestrel in the mix they had more than likely learned the hard way that anyone, newcomer or not, was a potential informant or infiltrator.

So he hadn't been expecting to be contacted so soon. But the man stood before him and offered a hand. "Name's John Lassiter. I'm sort of the spokesman for those inside."

After the briefest moment, Ezra shook the hand. "Ezra Standish. Hoping to awaken from a three day inebriation to discover that you and your little cadre are alcohol induced hallucinations."

Lassiter had given him a sympathetic smile. And now, an estimated two hours later, he found himself following the leader of the incarcerated as he laid out honestly but painfully the pessimistic details of their situation. "Is there any way to convince Carlisle to turn his prisoners over to the U.S. government now? That he has accomplished what he set out to do?" Ezra asked.

"He's insane. He thinks he has to get us at least to the Mississippi before he will be taken seriously. Logic doesn't apply."

"You've tried?" Lassiter nodded. Ezra continued. "I've been well indoctrinated in the fact that I am to eventually stand trial for imagined war crimes. Is there a schedule for these hearings?

Lassiter eyed the camp sadly. "No schedule. It's when his men get bore or to rid himself of troublemakers."

"So, even giving the man the benefit of the doubt, what once may have been a noble, but perverted cause, has long ago turned into simple robbery." Ezra observed as he analyzed the possible outcomes of the situation: Everyone escapes, some escape, I escape, no one dies, everyone dies. _That will get me nowhere._ Ezra could possibly appeal to Bridger, but wasn't willing to get too close to the man to gain his confidence except as a last resort. Besides he would be expecting that.

He realized Lassiter was watching him, possibly for some encouragement. _Ah, hell._ "There are some men outside those immediately involved who have some idea of what is transpiring."

"But you don't hold out much hope." Lassiter interpreted from his tone.

 _Damn. I must be slipping. C'mon, Ezra, where's the reason to hide the fact that you think you're on your own? If he's sincere, he deserves the truth. If he's spying for Kestrel, let him think you're defeated._ "As a friend of mine is wont to point out, 'God helps those who help themselves'."

Lassiter seemed to find encouragement that this new prisoner still had a little spit left in him. "Well, I guess we better keep trying to come up with a plan that gets us out."

Ezra grimaced. Bridger would be watching closer than ever for just such a mass escape attempt since Ezra had been successful in orchestrating one of those the last time. Ezra sighed. He didn't mind making his own luck, but he had to have something to work with. No, something had to happen. Kestrel had to make a mistake.


	14. Chapter 14

Morning had Chris up first before his men. Whatever they were going to do it was going to be soon. Ezra wasn't staying in that hellhole. Damn stubborn cuss. Speaking of stubborn cusses... "Nathan," The healer woke up groggily to his name. He glanced over and sleepily noticed the fire needed to be rekindled to make the coffee. "Where's Buck?" Nathan looked around instantly more alert. The others heard and looked as well.

"Where's Kestrel?" Vin growled.

"They rode to the camp." Carson drawled as he came in from guard duty.

Chris was nose to nose with the heavier man in a heartbeat. "They what?" It was a whisper.

"We took off their outriders. The men you killed at the wagon." He continued sarcastically as if Larabee would so quickly forget the deaths he caused. "We had to come up with an excuse for what happened to them before it's noticed their missing. We can't afford them sending out search parties and finding us."

"What did Kestrel talk Buck into?" Josiah's voice was low, rumbling.

"Didn't take much convincing." Carson defended. Chris's eyes were coal black, and deep pools of threatening emotions. He didn't say a word but the threat had Carson continuing a bit more hesitantly. "K - Kestrel's due to report in anyhow. He'll ride in like Wilmington's his prisoner. Say Wilmington took out those five blue coats while he was looking for Simpson - Standish. Those what arrested your man'll recognize him. They saw him fight. They'll believe he could best five men especially if he got the drop on 'em. Kestrel will tell Bridger and Carlisle he's a sympathizer."

"No- Chris - you can't... we gotta stop him... " JD fairly bounced, torn between going for his horse and awaiting some insight from his hero.

Larabee grabbed Carson's collar and pulled him forward. "How much of a lead do they have?" Chris asked.

"Five hours at least. They left when we took watch."

Chris threw the man away from him. "Damn." Nathan spat.

"They'll kill him." JD felt truly lost.

"He'll stand trial." Darby volunteered.

"I'll be damned if he will."

"We're buying time. Time we need." Carson was confident. "We'll stay here for two days then we can go in... "

"Like hell." Larabee was heading straight out and straight into that hellhole as soon as they arrived.

"Gotta be two days." Carson demanded. The look Larabee gave defied him to continue. The leader of the ex-Confederates noticed the same dangerous expression had taken over all of their faces. Even the boy had been pushed so that anger and turmoil had finally hardened his expression as well. Wilmington's concerns had been justified. This boy could become another Chris Larabee if his fortune followed a similar course. "Wilmington's been told he has two days after he goes in to organize a resistance movement from the inside. If we jump the gun, no telling what kind of damage we'll be doing. As it is, we're outnumbered at least four to one. I can guaran-damn-tee ya more people will die if you ride hell-bent in there now than if we wait."

"Chris?" Vin was waiting for the decision.

"If we get any closer, their scouts will find us for sure." Bonner warned. "You put him in too hot a spot, no tellin' what Kestrel'll do to save his hide."

Chris studied the man. That Reb's allegiance was to Carson, not to Kestrel. He was telling the truth.

This Kestrel, the one who had been riding with them, could and would sell Buck and Ezra out to buy himself some time. What had happened to the man he once knew? Had Kestrel always been this way? No, but when they had hooked back up briefly after Sarah and Adam's deaths, hadn't Buck felt uncomfortable about him? Maybe Chris had been such a dark and dangerous figure during that time, he had not noticed the changes in the older man.

Chris turned his back on everyone. Carson glanced over at Bonner. JD watched with growing distress. Vin thought back on how Kestrel had manipulated them all along until now they were forced to wait this out despite their better judgment. Two days. Chris and Josiah would have to beat him to Kestrel, Vin vowed to himself.

The young Zimmerman family got comfortable on their borrowed horses. Tommy sat in front of his father. "As soon as you get to town, you wire Judge Travis, you understand?" Josiah went over the last preparations.

"I tell him to start sending the cavalry and he doesn't stop sending men until you tell him to." Zimmerman repeated back. Josiah, Nathan and JD took the time to shake hands with the others. JD tousled Tommy's hair and promised that he and Buck would take him fishing in just a few days. Larabee and Tanner were beyond conversation and nowhere to be found. Their minds were set on a job that needed to be done and over with. The part of the gunfighter that had taken over had no place for civility. Buck and Ezra were in danger. He was not going to arrive too late. He would never arrive too late again.

Kestrel led Wilmington into the compound. Buck was almost thankful his hands were tied to his saddle horn. He was fighting to stay in the saddle. He knew he was weakening but it seemed the other symptoms of the concussion were lessening. The hangover, well, he deserved that. At least his headache was now tolerable. He was able to think clearly.

This was another thing Kestrel had been right about. In his current condition Buck knew he was next to useless in a firefight. It was for the best he be the one to go inside. He would get inside and rest; tell the men they were about to be rescued, come up with a plan and wait for Chris Larabee to arrive. Better than the horse soldiers any day.

And Chris would have the others with him. Yep, he would sit back, rest up and enjoy the show. With a little rest he might even be able to be of some actual help in the rescue.

Buck had never seen a POW camp and hadn't known what to expect. Now as he studied the abject conditions he was grateful he hadn't. He tried to look past the filth and squalor to find Ezra.

The men inside the wire seemed to be standing at attention. He couldn't pick out his friend. That tugged at him. These men were all dirty, ragged and covered with dust and dried mud, maybe even dried blood; so much as to make them indiscernible one from the other.

The usually fancy dressed gambler should stand out like a peacock among guineas. So where was he? Two men, dressed in the remnants of Union blue approached and drew Buck's attention back to his immediate surroundings. The one with a missing eye walked a little in front.

Ezra was standing at attention with the other prisoners. He knew this was a technique to sap their stamina and break their spirit. Punishment for breaking ranks was swift and hard.

Flies and gnats and mosquitoes were swarming around the men. No one was allowed to swat at them. As was typical of many February days in the plains, the temperature was rising.

For the moment Ezra was still content to allow his body to absorb the heat and take away the chill of the previous night. Soon the sun would become unbearable. He closed his eyes and tilted his head ever so slightly so that the sun could warm his face. He was refusing to allow the reality of his situation to take hold of his mind.

Ezra sensed a flurry of movement near Bridger's cabin and turned his head that way out of curiosity.

Ezra wasn't sure what his first emotion was when he saw Kestrel lead Buck in, his first thought was, "Please, God, don't do this." The raven-haired gunfighter pulled Wilmington up in front of Bridger and Carlisle and said something. They eyed the peacekeeper with a mixture of contempt and respect.

Kestrel suddenly hit his prisoner on his injured back, an action that brought him to his knees.

Ezra almost broke formation to go to his friend. One of the guards saw the movement and was at his side ready to exact retribution for the first misstep. Helplessly he watched as Buck had a hard time standing. He was hurt.

Kestrel laughed as the soldiers behind Carlisle dragged Wilmington to his feet and toward the compound. The guard on watch was unchaining the main gate to force him in.

There was a scream.

One man in the last row broke ranks, seemed to fight some invisible foe, tripped, fell, screamed again and crabbed his way backwards. He ignored the blast from one guard's scattergun that tried to discourage his actions.

Finally, guards and prisoners alike were able to make out the shouted words. Rattlesnake.

When Ezra's eyes adjusted to the scene behind him, at first he felt dizzy as if his eyes were swimming. Then he realized it was an optical illusion caused by the fact that the craggy outcropping of boulders within the barbed wire was moving.

The warmth of the late winter sun had drawn at least two dozen diamondbacks out of the den where they had nested together over the winter months. They were so well camouflaged the first appearance was that the ground was moving. Then it became clear that it was the snakes crawling over the mounds of earth and rocks which were the same color as their tan, brown and black skins.

One snake had attacked the hysterical man. When he tripped, he couldn't get away from it. Its fangs were trapped in the denim of his work pants. The long, thick reptile writhed, coiled and uncoiled in an attempt to break free. The man shook his leg in panic. "Get it off! Get it off!"

Several of the guards, from a safe distance behind the barbed wire, fired buckshot into the vipers.

The prisoners moved away from the slithery death.

Ezra went to the man who was attached to the snake. He assessed the situation, trying for a course of action.

Suddenly a heavy boot came down on the rattler, just behind its neck. Ezra looked up to see Buck there evaluating the snake rather casually.

The six-foot long reptile coiled around Buck's boot and up his leg. The 12 rattles and a button buzzed in anger.

Buck reached down, grabbed a fist size, glassy rock, adjusted it in his hand, then reached down and neatly sliced the head from the rest of the body. He had to remove the coils from his leg, then he carefully pulled the still deadly fangs from the frightened man's jeans leg.

He looked back at the rest of the den. Many were wounded by the shotgun blasts. Very few were truly dead.

He looked at the men around him. "Hell, don't tell me you never killed a rattler, before." He met the eyes of two of the men who looked rugged, capable. One of them was Lassiter. "Just 'cuz you're in here, don't mean you can't protect yourself."

The fact seemed to galvanize the men to action. Several of them moved forward and with rocks, sticks and their boots, they killed the creatures.

Ezra knelt beside Buck and heard him talking casually to the man who was attacked. "That thing get you?"

The man nodded.

Buck ripped open the man's pants leg and found two puncture marks. "Gotcha just the once?"

"I think so."

"What's your name?" While the man answered, Buck took the rock and cut a single slit into each wound. He was careful to use a different part of the rock each time so as not to recontaminate the second puncture with poison from the first. "M-my names Phillips. Jack Phillips."

Buck leaned down and sucked blood and venom from the wounds. "It's gonna hurt, it's gonna be scary, but you don't gotta die from a rattler bite. You understand me? You fight it, you got a chance."

The man nodded.

Buck and Ezra both gave startled jumps when they believed another snake had suddenly wrapped itself around Buck's throat. But with the jolt that pulled him backwards, Buck identified the feel as a length of leather. Jordan had lashed out with his whip and jerked the taller of the men onto his back on the ground.

Buck's hands went instinctively to the coil to try to loosen it.

Jordan held a remaining pit viper in front of his face. "You like playing with rattlers?" The man asked.

The snake's slitted eyes were angry and defensive. The jaws were open and venom dripped from the fangs.

Two additional guards had their hands full to keep Ezra from coming to Buck's aid. Several other sentries, inside the barbed wire and out, kept rifles, scatterguns and pistols aimed at Lassiter and the other prisoners and held them at bay.

Bridger was watching and he was uncomfortable. As soon as Standish and this other man got together, they seemed to breed a sense of insurrection in the previously docile prisoners. Bridger tapped his riding crop against his upper thigh and watched.

"I've heard a man bit in the neck bloats up and dies gasping for breath; knows every minute as the life leaves his body." Jordan toyed with the snake he held in a firm grip just behind its head. "They say you killed Tucker and the others. He was a friend of mine."

Buck allowed the man to think he had an edge. He must think it came from the simple fact that he was one of the wardens. Well, Buck was glad to take advantage of his over-confidence. He still held the fist-sized rock in his right hand. He bashed it into Jordan's temple. At the same time, he rolled out from under the big, red headed man.

Stunned, Jordan hit the ground and lost his grip on the snake - and met his own fate. The rattler lashed out and sank his fangs into the man's throat and shoulder twice before Buck could grab it by the tail and slam it into the side of the outcrop with deadly force.

Buck rested on his hands and knees and tried to suck in air in deep breaths as he loosened the whip around his neck. The bearded man's face took up most of his line of sight. He knew he was looking at a dead man. Jordan's fear of the bites as much as the poison itself would prevent him from fighting. The man thought he would die and so he would die.

Two guards had Jordan and were lifting the gasping, terrified man before Buck was able to move again. The camp's medic was beside him, but showed no reassurance.

"What about your other casualty?" Ezra demanded as everyone ignored the prisoner who had been bitten. Ezra's comment was equally ignored. With a final glance at the stricken Jack, who seemed surprisingly calm, just like Buck told him to be, Ezra quickly made his way to his friend.

The guards regrouped outside of the wire.

The prisoners seemed to keep a distance from Buck and Ezra as if they had something that was contagious.

Ezra's eyes met Lassiter's in quiet understanding. Buck had stood in defiance to the guards. He would be expected to pay a price. It would do no good for the other prisoners to support him and suffer the same fate. Simple survival strategy. Ezra would have done well to follow it, he might even be able to do Buck more good later if he had. It didn't matter. Despite the safest course of action, Ezra knelt down beside his friend. He remembered how they left him unconscious at the campsite. That wouldn't happen again.

The Southern accent was strong, a reflection of his disquiet over the situation. "I hope you have some plausible explanation as to why you have seen fit to grace us with your presence."

"Chris's been in a powerful pissy mood lately."

Ezra bowed his head and shook it, unable to avoid the smile. "Welcome to the lesser of two evils." But then he got serious again. "We should probably avoid as much as possible letting them know we are acquainted."

"Kestrel brought me in. Don't think we'll have many secrets." Buck looked around. Ezra's clothes were in tatters. His bare feet were covered in dry blood and bruises. His hair was so dirty as to be matted and caked to his brow with mud. None of the others looked any better as Buck surveyed their situation. "Are you all right, Ezra?" He asked.

The concern in his voice touched the Southerner. Not trusting his voice, he nodded. Finally he was able to ask, "Does Mr. Larabee know you're here?"

"Oh, by now I 'magine he does." It was Buck's turn to smile involuntarily and it held more than a hint of disquietude.

"And?" Ezra picked up on the emotions.

"And I plan on cuttin' a choggie to Mexico before he can get his hands on me."

"If I translate all this correctly, you have a plan. Mr. Larabee didn't approve of it. You enlisted Mr. Kestrel to help you initiate it. Mr. Larabee will rain down on this facility like a plague of locusts just to kill you and me for antagonizing him and you don't know how much you can trust Kestrel to play by the 'good guys win' rules. Have I left anything out?"

"Only the part that the boys are outnumbered around 4 to one and every man here's a potential hostage or dead man if we don't get them pulled together and ready to put up an organized resistance from the inside."

"Kestrel knows this plan?"

"He came up with it. The boy's'll ride in tomorrow about the same time we came in today." Ezra cursed under his breath. "Ezra? Trouble?"

"How bad are you hurt?" Was the response.

"I can carry my weight." Before he could say more, strong hands grabbed Buck and forced him to his feet. He was painfully jockeyed out of the compound by fiercely angry guards who didn't say a word.

Ezra was shoved back to the ground when he tried to follow.

As the gambler scrambled to follow his friend, a detached part of his mind automatically stopped him at a low rope strung ten feet from the barbed wire. He knew what the line meant. The distance in between was deadman's land. The guards would gun down anyone who stepped across the line. It wouldn't do any good for him to cross and get himself killed. This was as close as he could get to what was happening. 


	15. Chapter 15

Bridger, Carlisle and Kestrel stood on what passed for a porch in front of Carlisle's quarters. Buck was shoved to the ground in front of the group. Immediately men took off his coat and boots and doled them out to their fellow soldiers. Buck's struggles were useless against the odds. "You killed one of my men." Carlisle's voice boomed loud enough for the prisoners to hear. "I have a witness that says you killed five others. There is no need for a trial when every man here bears witness to your crime."

"I didn't kill him. The snake got to him before I did. I planned on using my bare hands." Bridger backhanded the gunfighter. Buck came back up spitting dirt out of his mouth.

"I sentence you to death by hanging." A roar of approval went up from the guards. The prisoners watched in meek submission.

Ezra tried to think of something to do, but he couldn't seem to get beyond the drama unfolding before him.

Bridger was no longer speaking for the benefit of the prisoners so he couldn't make out the words. They seemed to be taunting Wilmington with the rope before they put it around his neck. He saw his friend's frustration at not being given a fighting chance. A part of him was amused and proud that the usually boisterous and loud gunfighter sensed that silence was the best way to defy these men. He could tell the lady's man was forcing Kestrel to meet his eyes at the end.

Then there was a presence beside him. A tired voice observed, "It's for the best. Man like that don't need to be broke down in here bit by bit."

Ezra turned with an angry response but was stopped by the sight of the grizzled old man before him. No, not old, probably no older than Chris Larabee. But he was used up. His eyes were hollow in their sockets. His hair and unkempt beard looked dead as if no nutrients were getting to them. He was too thin and his skin was yellowy. His dark eyes never left the lynching.

Some of the soldiers draped the noose over the railing of the structure that had been built for Bridger and Carlisle to headquarter in. There were no trees in the high plains tall enough for a hanging.

Ezra watched Buck struggled against the men around him. He turned back to look beyond the man at his side to the other prisoners who had distanced themselves from the happenings. He had known what he would see. The other men watched with resignation and sad acceptance. He knew he would never see that combination in Wilmington's eyes and fought to keep them from welling inside his own chest.

Words from the man beside him worked their way into his consciousness, "You reminded us for an instant what it's like to be men, not caged animals. You're like your friend, son. Fight the good fight. As long as you can." Something in the tone pulled Standish back in time to see the worn prisoner beside him step over the line.

"No!" Ezra grabbed for the man who pulled away and quickly put himself out of reach. Bullets and dust popped up in front of his feet, not so much a warning as it was the guards were toying with the tired soul.

Ezra would have gone after him but Lassiter was there and held him back. They watched helplessly as the man walk unhurriedly toward the rows of barbed wire. A first bullet found its mark. The man kept walking. A second and third finally brought him down, but not before he was able to latch onto the near row of barbed wire, as close to freedom as he would ever again come in this life.

The moment brought a stunned silence that was quickly broken by a cheer from the guards as, the dead man already forgotten, they put the noose over Wilmington's head.

Lassiter tried to steer Ezra away from the scene unfolding so he would not have to watch. He could tell the men were friends.

Ezra brushed Lassiter's hand away with a violent gesture. "Carlisle!" Ezra called. He could not be heard over the commotion. "Carlisle!" He defiantly redirected the darker emotions that threatened him toward a determination to stop these men who artfully broke a man's spirit before they broke his body.

His mind was sorting and discarding ideas, plans and options faster than he could recognize the individual thoughts themselves. "Bridger! I want to talk to you! On your terms!" The words cut through to Bridger's mind. He looked straight at Standish and smiled. It was a malicious, controlling smile. He turned back to the hanging with no further recognition.

"Kestrel!" He couldn't believe this man would risk Larabee's wrath in such a fashion. "Bridger!"

The guards began to pull the rope tight. They purposely didn't tie Wilmington's hands, willing to let him fight and suffer for every last gasping breath he could take in. This was not the quick snap of someone's neck, this was slow suffocation.

As Wilmington balanced on his toes to keep his weight off the rope, Bridger signaled the men to hold the rope in that position and turned to Kestrel. "Bring him out here."

Kestrel knew he referred to the southern gambler and with two guards in tow moved to comply. Let the games begin.

Standish's mind was racing; calling on all the points he could make to save his friend's life. Then he noticed the smug look on Kestrel's face as he approached. It was like a lamp lit suddenly in a darkened room. That man's motives and desires were written on his face for all to see. _Damn_ Ezra berated himself. _It must have been my brain that froze last night._

He calmly slipped back into his conman persona, the man he had been most of his life. The scam formed just that quickly and completely in his mind. He had the persuasive words.

The only thing that had changed was the reward. This time it was not selfish, greedy monetary gain, it was the life of a very good friend.

It was still an extremely selfish motive for Ezra Standish. That kind of friendship was much rarer to him than any other reward he had ever sought with his subterfuge.

He knew what and how. He blocked out the consequences. On the exterior no one could tell, after the initial panicked shouts, that the man was anything but his nonchalant self.

As Kestrel led him out, Ezra spoke in a low voice that would not carry. "I've figured out what you want, Kestrel. You may think you need Wilmington dead, but if Larabee gets even a whiff that you could have prevented it, he'll have your flesh for lampshades. And your plans are so much dust. Are you willing to take that risk?"

Kestrel didn't acknowledge the statement, but the tension in his body told Ezra everything he needed to know. Ezra allowed himself the smallest of smiles. _Gotcha._

 _Damn, damn, damn._ Kestrel cursed himself. He had been so distracted by almost seeing the final stage of his plan begin, he had lost perspective. He might convince Larabee he tried to stop this, but why take the chance? There were too many opportunities coming. The gambler was right. After all, it was his forte to read the odds.

That damn smug Standish. He knew he had won this round. Kestrel would have to help him save Wilmington if there was a way. All the better. As of this moment, Kestrel was determined to personally kill both Wilmington and Standish himself.

"EZ, you have something to say to me?" Bridger crowed.

"Did Kestrel tell you this was a lawman?"

"He told me he was a sympathizer. He told me he was a murderer. He has proved himself a murderer with the death of Jordan."

"Jordan could be argued an accident." Bridger gave him a blank look. Ezra continued as if he were casually debating the prospects in a horse race. "Officers were punished for the treatment of prisoners at Andersonville. The commandant was executed. If you want to get your message through to Washington, D.C. you can't open yourself up to controversy. If the men you punish are guilty, you must have trials. You must have the law on your side. The politics of Washington are volatile now. They can't afford to side with you if you have tarnished your original, fundamental goal which is to show that war crimes and atrocities were committed... could you please let him down while we carry on this conversation, there are points to be made and a man slowly suffocating before my eyes distracts me." Ezra tried not to sound too concerned.

Bridger stared at him for way too long then the evil grin slowly returned to his face. "A lawman." His eyes brushed over Standish, trying to evaluate him. "I said there was never any telling what you would care about. And I told you I'd find it."

It was a calculated risk, but Ezra let his mask fall for the briefest of instants and allowed Bridger to know that he was right. Then he put the mask back in place and waited. Two days. Damn it, two days.

Bridger laughed, but made a motion. With the release of the rope, Buck fell to the ground. What the hell, Ezra mused, I've chosen the way to play this. So he rushed forward to support Buck and check the rope burns on his neck.

"Tell me more, little man." Bridger moved to tower over them.

"It can't look as though your prisoners have been tortured. You must show that while you were housing war criminals they were treated with humanitarian considerations. Think about it. Think about Washington and politics. You'll know I'm right."

"Perhaps we can negotiate." Bridger seemed to ponder the situation. "And you, little man, what do you have to offer?"

"A signed confession for your war crimes. I'll plead guilty to your charges without benefit of trial."

"And your lawman friend? Will he sign that he is a sympathizer and guilty of the deaths of honorable Union fighters?" Carlisle asked smugly.

Ezra felt Buck tense under his hands and pressed down hard to keep him quiet as he casually offered up bargaining terms. "We need fire and pots to boil water. There are sick and injured that can be helped and you know it. We need bandages for the injured. Blankets." He knew that in Bridger's mind he was signing their death warrant.

"You're offering me your lives for blankets and hot water? I can have your lives with a simple trial." He walked around the men kneeling before him and tapped a tedious beat on their shoulders and backs and heads with his riding crop.

The more seasoned gunfighter was trembling with rage. Ezra was pleading silently with his friend to trust him and play this out.

"You're very good at ingratiating yourself with the other prisoners." Bridger upped the ante.

Kestrel had to jump in with an attempt to incite Larabee's old friend to action. "You would be able to tell us who is guilty and what their crimes were. You can tell us who is trying to initiate sedition."

"You want us to spy on these men!" Wilmington growled. He started to rise.

Ezra held him back and spoke quickly. "I would need at least two days."

The only thing that kept Buck reined in was the emphasis his sly friend had put on the words "two days". The smaller man was trusting his word that Larabee would be there for them. The least Buck could do was have the same trust.

Kestrel didn't miss the by-play. So they were going to rely on that timeline. A timeline Kestrel had constructed. Excellent. He could toy with them for a while after all.

"Not good enough." Bridger raised an eyebrow and looked at him. Ezra knew what he wanted. He wanted control.

"Two days, and then like you said, 'your terms'. Anything else that might mean to you." Ezra swatted at an itch on his back as he waited for a reply.

Buck didn't like the sound of that Ezra noticed. _And well you shouldn't, Mr. Wilmington. You better be right about our illustrious leaders capabilities._

"Two days. That's what you said last time."

"I appreciate the irony as well, but this time, I haven't had the six months to initiate the excavation of an underground escape route." _And one couldn't get through this ground to dig one anyway._

Something glinted in Kestrel's eye and he leaned over and whispered in Bridger's ear. Bridger and Carlisle both heard and nodded appreciation of whatever was said.

"Deal." Carlisle replied simply. Neither Ezra nor Buck liked the sudden acquiescence to the terms or the matching, dangerous, self-satisfied expressions on these men's faces. Ezra sighed. All they could do was play the hand they were dealt. 


	16. Chapter 16

Prisoners, under guard, were sent out to gather firewood.

Lassiter, Standish and Wilmington rearranged the camp. On the surface they grouped the sick and injured together to be nearer the fires. In reality they moved them to the far end of the camp where they could be protected when the rescue came.

They used the fire pits for warmth and to boil water for drinking and cleaning wounds.

As good as the deal he had made, Carlisle came up with some old shirts and some rags that were used sparingly for bandages. Almost all of the men suffered to some degree from malnutrition, dysentery or dehydration. The clean water, minus the smell of stagnation, went a long way to improving their health and mental state.

Some had been beaten, others had old injuries left unattended. Buck wished Nathan were here to help those that were the worst off. Anyone who rode the trail had some minimal experience with tending breaks and bruises but some of these men needed bones reset that had not been given attention and had been left to mend improperly. There were even some neglected and infected bullet wounds. He wondered how these men had been able to withstand the suffering. And he wondered angrily how other men could allow the conditions to exist.

Those who could, joined Ezra and Buck in carefully tending to the sick and wounded. As they worked, Ezra and Buck confided their plan to Lassiter. He in turn pulled together the men he thought he could trust. Several of them balked when told of what was to come. Without weapons what could they do?

"And what's the alternative?" Lassiter growled. "Wait here until it's our turn to stand before that so-called jury? Do you really think they are going to find anyone innocent? Let anyone go free?"

Buck, swabbing the brow of the poor snakebite victim whose fever was peaking, watched Lassiter as he defiantly meet the eyes of each of his men before he continued by pointing a callused finger in Buck's direction. "These men are coming in not only with a plan that I think will work, but promise of help from the outside. I for one am going to be ready to fight for my freedom. And for yours. With my bare hands if I have to."

He was an inspirational speaker, Ezra smiled as he gave him that. He'd be hell at the evangelical scam. But it worked. Damned if it didn't work and he had the men encouraged and believing they could win.

Ezra could tell that Buck admired the man and appreciated his optimism. So Ezra looked again. Was the man truly sincere? Was he himself too cynical or was Wilmington gullible when it came to thinking things could always work out and in his admiration of men who fought these insurmountable odds?

He looked towards Buck. Didn't he see that he was one of those men?

The jaded Southerner was distracted from this line of thought when he noticed his partner had walked away from the group. Bridger was watching them. He didn't like the idea of them being separated. He hurried as best he could to catch up to Lassiter who was already following after Wilmington.

Talk of weapons reminded Buck of something and he limped stiffly to where the dead snakes lie about the ground. Every move pulled at his sore back and the tight bandages Nathan had wrapped around the cuts. His preoccupation and movements gave several of the men reason to follow him.

He grimaced as he stepped on the sharp rocks with his stocking feet. He found and picked up the rock he had used to kill the snake. "Flint."

"A type of rock. Thank you Mr. Wilmington, for the educational moment."

"It ain't native to this area, Ezra."

"Right. That means it was brought in by Indians." Lassiter quickly grasped what the taller cowboy was thinking.

"And look. It's been worked." Buck showed the beveled edges of the palm-sized rock to Lassiter who seemed to have the better understanding of where he was going with his chain of thought. Both he and Buck looked around with the same thought in mind.

"The first high rise above a water source would be where they would camp." The prisoner leader mused.

"If there is any more worked flint, it will be there." Wilmington finished the thought. They were on the move. Lassiter supported Buck when he could see the other man refused to rest now that a potential plan of action was within reach.

Ezra fought a hint of jealousy and the feeling that he was being left out as he plodded after them.

Buck picked up a small piece of flint and smiled as he examined it. "Thumb nail scrapper."

"This piece was worked, but looks like they gave up on it." Lassiter tossed a medium sized chunk of flint to his new collaborator and friend.

"Yeah, but look, sharp as a knife where they did work it." He grinned, and it lit up his face as he held the stone out and showed Ezra.

When he remembered how easily his fun-loving friend had used the rock to separate the snake from its head, the gambler realized the weapon potential that lay all around them. He glanced quickly to make sure Bridger or the guards had not caught on.

Following Buck and Lassiter's examples the men had soon scrounged a small stockpile. The blade sharp flint was not only stowed away for weapons for the coming day, but the thumbnail scrappers Buck was so proud of finding were used to skin the dead snakes and supply a tasty meal for at least one night.

"Taste's pretty good, huh, Ezra? Like chicken?"

"Mr. Wilmington, it tastes like a scaly, desert spawned reptile. And it is possibly a statement to my current condition, it is perhaps the best food I have ever tasted."

Buck Wilmington laughed at his friend's facial expressions. He was feeling good. Things might work out after all.

On the porch of his office, Carlisle watched the prisoners. They were no longer the beaten and dejected group that had been controlled so easily.

He'd known for a long time that Lassiter was a disruptive element. Between him and the new arrivals trouble was brewing. Bridger had something going with the Southerner; some vengeance he thought he was due. He had hinted at things that Carlisle chose not to pursue.

Kestrel had some friction with the one with the mustache and the beard that was coming in heavy after three days of not shaving. Well, they had a good thing going. They had military strategy backing their raids. They were just becoming profitable. Personal feuds were not going to destroy what they had here. He went inside to convince Bridger.

Chris Larabee sat beside the fire and held his coffee.

Josiah and Nathan dozed lightly.

Vin was out somewhere.

JD was on the early watch with Darby.

The leader of the Magnificent Seven contemplated the rebels. They seemed sincere in their mission to rescue their fellow confederates. There was something else there, something between Carson and Kestrel, but he hadn't figured it out yet. It didn't seem to influence the course of events, so as was his nature, Larabee left other people's business to themselves.

But then Carson and Kestrel weren't the only ones keeping things from him. What would it have hurt for Ezra to have told him the truth about what was going on? Why hadn't he? And Buck? Since when did that man not talk to him about their differences? Were they afraid of his temper?

He needed people to fear the man, the gunfighter. Did he really want them to fear the friend? Buck and Ezra both had called him on the man he had become. They had been right. He hadn't been a friend in Four Corners. He betrayed the others by turning his back on any situation he couldn't handle with a gun.

He remembered how he thought he was being generous when he would let Buck bring up memories of Sarah and Adam. But then he recalled that the affection in those memories had reflected in his own soul and he had smiled, and the good memories washed out the hatred, bitterness and need for vengeance for brief, firefly moments. There weren't many people who could make him smile.

Hell, there could have been more humor in his voice when he drolly said he should have shot Buck in Purgatorio. There could have been more appreciation when Buck showed up to cover them that time... yeah, Buck and Ezra had called him. Now look where they both were because of how they anticipated he would react.

By going to the POW camp, Buck was still running from him. Make no mistake about that. Buck had left before, but this time there were four other sets of eyes and Standish's scalding remarks to remind him of what he'd chased away. That he'd have to chase them all away. And he knew now he didn't want that.

He was almost thankful when his morose thoughts were jerked back to the present by the sounds of a scuffle not too far away. He ran in that direction. Vin, Josiah, Nathan, Carson and Bonner were right behind him.

They came to a clearing to find each of their youngest rolling over and over and exchanging blows. Vin, one-handed, as he was unwilling to holster his mare's leg, and Josiah pulled JD off of Darby. The young blonde kicked out at the boy when Carson and Bonner all but lifted him off the ground.

"What the hell... " Carson began.

"They were the ones who robbed Miz Nettie's! He just said so!" JD was struggling to get back into the fray. "It was them. Not the men we're after."

"We'd never 'a hurt those women!" Darby yelled back in defiance.

"Stop it." Once again Larabee never raised his voice. But silence fell. His hazel gaze, green and flecked with gold when he was angry bored into Carson for an explanation.

"We couldn't let Carlisle and his men know we were onto them. We had to get supplies. Kes said the blue coats were watchin' for us in town. He said that ranch was... " By his tone of voice the peacekeepers could tell this man felt he had done nothing wrong; that the ends justified the means.

"Kestrel told you to raid Nettie's? That ranch?" The question came from Vin. It was equally as soft and threatening as his best friend.

"Pointed it right out."

"That ain't chance, Cowboy. That man don't do nothing without reason."

"When we find him, we'll ask him." Chris stated rather matter-of-factly, but there was a threat there and Tanner was glad to hear it. "Get some rest. I'll take the watch." He waited as the two sides keep their youngest separated. They weren't ready to give up the fight.

Vin stayed and quietly supported his friend. There was an uncomfortable preoccupation to Chris's silence tonight.

"Son of a bitch ain't even around no more and he's still got you second guessing yourself." Vin spoke casually, gazing at the stars. These sort of conversations between him and Chris usually went better when there was no eye contact.

He knew now if he waited long enough, Larabee would speak his mind.

"Buck was right. I was thinkin' on leavin'."

"We've all been there."

"Not for the same reasons. I wonder if I've forgotten how to be a friend. Or just decided somewhere along the way I didn't want that responsibility anymore." He watched the night sky, too.

"That's Kestrel talking! Damn that man... " Vin didn't usually give in to his anger.

"Naw, Vin." The calmness in his best friend's voice brought the tracker up short. "He did me a favor." Chris met the other man's eyes finally. "He made me stop running long enough to think about the consequences. I'll have to thank him when I get my hands on him." The fierce, conspiratorial smile he threw to his friend was reflected instantly. Kestrel was going to be sorry he crossed that man.


	17. Chapter 17

Kestrel watched the two other men in the room. Bridger was insane, but it was a dangerous, purposeful madness with an agenda, a goal. No matter how unrealistic, there was a logic there in his mind that no other could see.

Carlisle, for his part had long since moved past any noble motivation. He wanted revenge and restitution for his lost life and the riches he thought should be his. That was obvious by the ever-growing pile of spoils that was even now secured in this small cabin. Carlisle and Kestrel long ago assured Bridger that the sell of the booty would go in furtherance of his campaign. The man had seemed satisfied.

"Is the lawman a threat?" Bridger asked of their scout. He had listened to Carlisle's accusations. He knew what Standish was capable of on his own. He was concerned that the new prisoners could orchestrate an uprising.

Kestrel contemplated his answer. His responses must always hold enough truth that he could justify the statements should he ever be called into account for them. "He has friends who might look for him."

"He has killed six of my men." Bridger turned and met the others with the eyes of a commander.

"He's seen way too much." Carlisle stated.

"Unless we could convert him to our cause?" Bridger suggested. "He must be a hell of a hand to have on your side."

No. Unacceptable! Kestrel's jealousy peeked. And then there were the memories that Wilmington could recall at any time. He would not take the chance that Wilmington would undermine him with Carlisle the way he had with Larabee.

The handsome, longhaired scoundrel quickly turned on the charm and began to manipulate the outcome of the situation. He analyzed his possible answers and decided which ones the others would expect, what they would accept and which ones would turn them against him. He ran each situation through several scenarios and through their various possible outcomes to each probable endgame in the time it took most men to blink. He knew these men; knew the answers they wanted. "Standish is up to something. He must have seen something here already that he thinks he can use to his advantage. I say we change the playing field as much as possible and as quickly as possible before he can gain support from the other prisoners. Them we have beaten down. Standish and Wilmington coming in as fresh blood could cause us trouble if we don't beat them down and fast."

"Ain't that the damn truth. They got 'em down there now, sitting together, discussing options, eating those snakes. Hell, they're eating better than our men tonight."

"What do you have in mind?" Bridger asked.

"We break camp. Tonight. That way, whatever Standish saw he thought he could use, is out of his reach."

"And once we're out of this territory, Wilmington's body just becomes one more unknown buried on boot hill."

Bridger studied each man. He thought about what had been said. "It's time anyway. We need to move closer to the Mason-Dixon and the honors that await us for correcting this lapse in our government's judgment. Let's move out, gentlemen. But first, let's break them." Bridger grabbed his riding crop and headed out the door.

Kestrel followed with no longer disguised impatience. None of the posturing of these men mattered. This time tomorrow Wilmington and Standish would be dead.

And so would these two men, these " _officers"_. Larabee would kill them out of revenge.

Over 100 men would have been saved by the Magnificent Seven. A conspiracy that spanned three states and was responsible for over 20 murders would have been stopped. And they would be heroes.

Standish and Wilmington dead, he and Carson would take their place among the peacekeepers in Four Corners. The manchild was as good as gone and he would assure that Larabee lost Tanner to the death warrant that awaited the former bounty hunter in Texas. Losing Dunne and Tanner was going to make a space for Bonner and that damn Darby the Rebs insisted on dragging along. They were no better than Wilmington with his brat. But at that time Kestrel would control four of the seven.

It would take time for Larabee to come around after he had overheard that last conversation with Buck, but Kestrel felt certain he could control him. If not, Ella had sworn to him that the man in black would run to her for comfort if his world were to fall apart again.

The preacher and the healer? Perhaps, on the surface, they were men of healing and forgiveness, but below the surface, they were hired guns. They would bind their loyalty to whoever offered the most safety. It was the way of the pack.

It was also the way of the pack that when two alpha males faced off, only one could lead. He wanted to control Larabee. He didn't want the gunfighter dead, he wanted the fear and name recognition he generated. It would sell Jock Steele's books. It would convince the store owners and the clerks and the ranchers and the railroads to pay for the protection that would be offered.

Clay Kestrel had it all figured out. He would control the legendary shootist. He would lead the Magnificent Seven. And everything was going better than he could have hoped.

Ezra, Buck, Lassiter and two other prisoners lolled around one campfire. It was the most comfortable they'd been in months. Wilmington reminded them they had weapons at hand and even food around them. Standish conned the commandant into giving them fire and aid for the injured and sick.

And these two remarkable men said there were others out there like them. For the first time in a long time there was hope.

They had drawn an outline of the camp in the dirt. Lassiter pulled the last chunk of snake from the spit and, as he ate, used the stick to point out details. "The sick and injured are as safe here as we can make them."

Buck pulled some of the stringy meat from the bones as he observed, "The guys will go to the main gate and try to get it open. When you see it coming, don't be too obvious, stay undercover as best you can, but be in that area. And when they need help, get your asses out there. Guns or no, you got flint the size of axes and you got your hands."

"Once the soldiers start to fall grab their guns." Ezra advised.

"You're friends still got to get to us. We can't help until they do. That's 100 yards of open space. Someone's gonna get hurt." Lassiter observed realistically.

Buck and Ezra exchanged glances. They were thinking the same thing. "We may have someone on the inside. If we can, we'll set up a diversion."

Someone on the inside? Suddenly suspicion crossed the faces of the others. Before they could respond the gates where thrown open and a wad of guards forced their way into the compound straight for Ezra and his camp.

With the prisoners cowed by the guns and the show of force, Bridger and Carlisle made their bold stride up to the center of activity.

Ezra quickly erased the outline of their plan from the ground before the soldiers could observe it.

Bridger walked the inner circle of the gathering. He studied the eyes of each man he could make contact with in the waning fire. For the first time in a long time, the resolution and defeat he was used to seeing were overshadowed by hatred and defiance. And he could feel it all generating from EZ and his friend. They defied him. Those were the kind of men he delighted in breaking. "Mr. Carlisle."

Carlisle enjoyed the situation equally, but played his part as subjugate to Bridger's command.

"We will break camp and move out in three hours. Any man not able to travel will be summarily tried for his crimes at that time. Any man found guilty will be executed. Any man found innocent will be allowed to remain with water and food for two days."

"Two days, EZ," Bridger interrupted, without looking in the gambler's direction. "Do you again appreciate the irony?"

When it appeared Bridger had no more to say, Carlisle started to continue. Before he got the words out, Bridger was in Ezra's face. "You thought your two days were free? The fire? The bandages? You bought them with blood."

The prisoners shuffled nervously in response to the anger and show of force of their captors. "Mr. Kestrel... " Bridger called out.

In response, Kestrel came forward leading four men who suddenly grabbed Lassiter.

"Steven Lassiter you have been tried and found guilty of sedition and acts of insurrection."

They were immediately wrestling him out of the compound.

Buck bolted forward and attacked the men who held the prisoners' leader. Ezra danced in and connected with another man's jaw.

The prisoners surged forward to follow this example.

Twin pistols coughed and two prisoners fell.

The others were held back by gun barrels aimed in their direction.

As Lassiter was dragged out of the compound Bridger walked up to where Ezra and Buck were being restrained by six angry soldiers. He stared hard at the Southerner with his one good eye. "I don't know what you had planned, but it won't work. We won't be here. Your two days will be up. If you want two more, you'll buy it with the blood of this lawman."

Ezra and Buck were held back by strong arms. Bridger laughed. Two men. And they struggled as if they could change what was happening if they were free.

"Kestrel, stop them!" Wilmington demanded. All he got in return was an evil grin like none the sophisticated gunfighter had dared show him before.

Wilmington didn't understand the hatred he saw in the other man's eyes, but he knew it was reflected in his own.

With a strength he was rarely forced to use, Wilmington broke free and lunged for the tall rogue.

A guard raised his pistol. Ezra fell into the man to deflect his aim. The gun arm fell between them and with the discharge, Ezra felt the bullet gouge across the fleshy part of his thigh. The searing heat of the wound brought him to his knees.

Kestrel sidestepped Wilmington who had been denying his weakened condition for too long and slammed him to the ground with a powerful blow to his cheekbone.

As the guards backed out of the wired enclosure, Buck crawled to his smaller friend. He took the filthy bandana from his neck to squelch the blood loss.

They watched in utter helplessness as Lassiter, their friend, a brave man who had tried to fight and overcome the odds, was forced to stand and face the firing squad that without a second thought ended his life.

Ezra wanted to look away. But he felt he owed it to this brave man to memorize the event and the faces of those who participated.

When it was over, he wished he had kept his eyes on the corpse. Because the grief and loss in Buck's eyes was more painful than the injury to his leg.

"You did this!" One man yelled as he threw his flint stone at Ezra. It hit his shoulder and startled him more than caused any damage. "You sold him! You thought the blankets and the fires were worth a life?"

Buck, weak, grieving for his recently met and now gone friend, took his anger out on the other prisoners. "You are some kind of fools." He got right in the face of the man who had stoned his friend. "You are a piece of work."

He turned to address the entire lot. "You were lazy and worthless until Ezra got here. Why would you believe Kestrel? Why would you believe this man sold you out? Just think, damn it! The one man that gets changes made here? Who else are they going to try to turn you against? You want to be mad at someone? Be mad at him... " He waved his arm mutinously in Kestrel's direction. "... that son-of-a-bitch. And the others. And be mad at yourselves for not fighting back. And do something about it!"

The men backed off from the anger and the sense of loss that permeated the air around the dark-haired gunfighter. He truly grieved over the death of a man he'd known less than a day.

They let the guilt slip into their consciousness and then allowed themselves to recognize the loss. And they also acknowledged Buck as their new leader even though he himself did not recognize what had happened. All Buck knew at the moment was that he had used up all his strength. The world was spinning and he sat down before he fell down. And his head and arms fell like a marionette with the strings cut.

Ezra watched the older man take deep breaths and absorb all that had happened. He got a twinge to realize Buck was just as protective of him as he was of JD or any of the others. Why didn't he notice it before? He wished he deserved it. Ezra knew that, despite what Buck believed, it was he himself that was somehow responsible for that man's death. As well as the two others who had been gunned down.

And now they were breaking camp. Leaving. Moving out. Larabee and the others would arrive to find an empty enclosure.

Things would be like last time. Bridger was here and Kestrel. And they would use Wilmington's safety the way they used the young Georgia boy. Until the amusement wore off and they let him die.

Ezra had never felt so hopeless and so responsible for the fate of so many. Why had he thought he could come here and make a difference? This is why he should watch out for himself and no one else. He couldn't even watch out for his goddamn self. Why did he think he could help the others? And damn it, that damn Buck was sitting there and reading everything in his damn eyes and it didn't chase him off.

He felt Buck's hand on his shoulder. The hand felt surprisingly cool. It was where the whip had bitten into his flesh those days ago. He realized there must be a fever around the cut. Until Buck had arrived, there had been no water worth cleaning it with. The stagnant stuff in the creek would have done more harm than... then he had forgotten about it in light of tending the other injuries and... what was that look on Buck's face? What was on his hand... pasty white... maggots.

Ezra slapped at his own back. Buck grabbed to stop the motion, but wasn't fast enough. "Now Ezra, stay calm."

The nasty shapeless creatures had hatched in the wound on his back. The itch and crawl he had attributed to flies... He was going to be sick.

He staggered to his feet, ignoring the throb in his thigh, and turned in jerky circles, trying to decide how to run away from himself. The filth and the dirt and the disease. He had tried to force it out of his mind, pretend that he wasn't back. But he was in this camp. Death and dying were all around him.

He rubbed at his neck again, hard. Flattened remains of the vermin were splotched on his palm, but some refused to die and inched their way across his fingers.

He held the hand out to Buck. It was shaking, his body was weaving ever so slightly in a fight to maintain his equilibrium.

Buck rose to help him fight the despair that was engulfing him. He turned away from the offered solace and fell to his knees. His stomach revolted at the thought of the infestation in his skin.

 _I said I would never be dirty again. I said I would never wear rags again_

He could feel the hope of rescue wafting away.

The fires were dying. Bridger had lured them to a false sense of security to break their spirit. He had allowed them a little - food, warmth, fellowship - to remind them one last time what they would be missing and then he took it away.

Buck was still with him. "You gotta hold up, Ezra, they're bugs, like mosquitoes or… they're just... "

"They live on the dead and dying, Mr. Wilmington."

"Let's get you cleaned up. Chris'll be here... "

"But we won't!" He kept rubbing at his shoulder and neck. They itched now as if every inch was covered with maggots. "Didn't you hear? They are moving us out."

Buck was trying to capture his friend's hand to keep him from making things worse. The sensation must be agonizing. Buck had to fight back his own bile to keep talking. "Then we'll figure something out until they catch up."

"I will not live like this." Standish shoved away, weaved to his feet and began to walk with morose resolve toward the dead man's zone between the barbed wire fences.

The guard on duty raised his rifle and waited for him to cross the line.


	18. Chapter 18

Buck caught up with the gambler, spun him, grabbed his shoulders and demanded, "Fight, damn it, Ezra, fight them. You've gone this far."

Ezra windmilled his arms to break the grip on his shoulders. For all he had gone through to this point, he was still healthier than the taller man holding him and was able to free himself with little effort. He staggered slightly then limped toward the barbed wire.

Kestrel watched with ill-contained amusement.

The guards waited for their shot.

The prisoners knew this would decide if they went back to their resigned captivity or continued to defy their captors.

With everything that hung in the balance, all Wilmington cared about was keeping Standish alive. He spun the Southerner around and jabbed him, fist to jaw, then caught the smaller man before he could fall to the ground.

Too weak to support the weight, he sank to the dirt cradling his friend. Buck gathered the southerner under his shoulders and dragged him back to the embers of the nearest fire.

Buck Wilmington closed his eyes for the space of a few breaths to rest and find the strength to keep going. There was a new resolve in Buck's eyes when he opened them again. He threw his tattered shirt in the embers to ignite a flame. "Get me any wood that's left." He ordered of the prisoners that stared blankly at him. "Now!"

Any directive was followed. Anyone who would make decisions for them was obeyed. They stoked the fire and brought over one of the pots of water to boil.

Buck methodically picked the white vermin from the flesh above his friend's shoulder blade. He took great delight in mashing the first ones between his dirty, broken fingernails. A few had burrowed into the flesh and had to be pulled through much like a heavy needle while doing leather work.

As best he could tell the damage was not going to be physical as much as emotional.

There was a fever around the cut. It had clearly been left unattended. And the wound had gaping, ragged edges on the flesh. There were thin red lines running away from the wound under the skin, and Buck remembered that wasn't good, but the fever didn't extend to the rest of his friend's body. He couldn't help but wonder if the insects might have been some sort of preventative for more serious damage.

It didn't matter.

The look on Ezra's face when he realized the maggots were there would take a long time to leave his memory.

He used the last of the hot water to thoroughly clean the gash and finally lay his friend down to sleep for the little time they had left before their enforced march began.

He couldn't help but feel of his own wound, but thanks to Nathan, the bandages held. The itch he felt was his imagination. He made himself ignore it.

Buck kept his hand on Ezra's shoulder so that the younger man might know he was not alone, even while he slept. He was pretty sure exhaustion kept his friend unconscious rather than the actual blow he had delivered.

It would be good to get a couple of minutes sleep himself, but he couldn't seem to tear his gaze from Lassiter's body lying forgotten outside the fencing.

That man had deserved better.

Buck Wilminngton felt a rage well up inside when he thought of Clay Kestrel.

His eyes slid over and found that man sipping coffee by the guard's fire.

One minute he saved their lives. The next he was a driving force behind the murder of an innocent man.

Buck Wilmington knew two things. One, he had to get a handle on Kestrel's apparently inconsistent moves if he was going to stay alive long enough for the second which was to make the man pay for the innocent victims who died tonight.

Buck almost wished Ezra would wake up, as much as he needed the sleep. That southern cuss could figure right out what was going on; if he hadn't already.

Buck found himself almost to the point of exhaustion where sleep would come despite the pain and worry.

His eyelids finally started to drift closed.

Then feeling the presence more than seeing it, he looked up.

Three of the prisoners stood before them.

He didn't know their names. The truth is, he didn't want to. He didn't want any more attachments in this hellhole.

With brief insight, he knew how Chris felt when he lost his family.

In truth, Buck had lost more loved ones in his life up to that time than his companion. He had learned how to cherish the good memories and fight the memories of the losses. But here, in this place, this fatigued and drained, he had reached his limit. He tensed briefly in case they were looking for trouble. But that's not how he read them.

The tallest of the men finally spoke, "What are we going to do?"

 _Why the hell ask me?!_ His mind shouted. _I do not look for responsibility! Ask Chris or JD or Ezra, here, or the others!_ But, he conceded, at least they were trying to not give up.

They deserved something for that.

"You." Buck finally pointed to the young man who looked the most sickly. "Sit here with my friend. Don't let him wake up alone and call me if he stirs."

It was difficult to get to his feet, but when he did they began to walk slowly about the compound to see what could be done.

Across the barbed wire and fencing, Kestrel watched his old friend move through the injured and weak. Old friend. Ha.

He hated that one's easy-going acceptance of other people's ways. Somehow that had endeared him to Larabee when it should have been Kestrel.

When Larabee's family died, he was anger and power and death on horseback.

By that time he had already made a name as a gunslinger. Driven by that anger, he became a legend.

Larabee and Kestrel could have cut a swath through the western territories that they would sing songs about. Then they could have fled to Mexico and lived like kings.

Why the dangerous, brooding gunfighter allowed Wilmington to continually lead him away from that destiny was a mystery.

From the moment he had started wearing black to reflect his darkened spirit Larabee seemed to be on the verge of hating his oldest friend for watching his back and keeping him from paths he could never turn back from. Yet somehow Kestrel had never been able to push them over the edge.

And then there was the other …

Well, guilt was equally as malleable a clay as hatred and anger.

Larabee would know guilt - that Wilmington died with harsh words between them.

Kestrel was confident he would still walk down the dusty streets of Four Corners and the other up-and-coming communities as the only person Chris Larabee would allow at his side.

Larabee might control the others, but he would control Larabee.

It was his destiny.

Kestrel sipped at his coffee around a smile.

For most men it would have been complicated getting everyone to where they were now. It had been easy for Kestrel. Now it was simply a matter of Wilmington and Standish dying in a manner that Larabee couldn't hold him responsible for and the others couldn't convince him it was so.

Easy as water off a duck's back.

Easy as picking maggots off a body.

The smile turned into a laugh and he dumped his coffee into the flames.


	19. Chapter 19

Josiah had settled himself among the three rebels earlier in the evening. The two bottles of red eye he had proffered up as a peace offering for the earlier run-in between the youngsters of the two gangs were nearly gone. He hoped it would be enough inducement for them to accept him as a friend.

Josiah silently, patiently, listened to the men indulge in campfire talk.

He had questions he couldn't even put into words. Maybe the questions would crystallize if he got to know these men.

How did they now Kestrel? Did they trust him, as they seemed?

He would think back later at how he had never suspected the detail with which the conspiracy against him and his friends had been conceived.

"Sho - so, Josiah," Carson leaned over conspiratorially, "How much do you gents make off the shop owners?"

"What?" Josiah was just as surprised by the question as that he was suddenly included in the conversation.

"C'mon, lay it out for us. We're practically your partners."

The others leaned forward. Their expressions ranged from Carson's greedy leer to Darby's innocent curiosity.

But the anticipation raised Josiah's hackles.

"Is it just the shopkeepers in Four Corners who pay you to protect them? Or do the other towns kick in?"

Josiah picked his words carefully. He needed to know what these men thought they knew and not give up his confusion to the questions. "Who told you anything was going on?"

"Kestrel. Said it was only a matter of time before the ranchers were paying us, too. Then we'll buy up the land for the railroad... "

"Why would we need more partners?" Josiah asked cautioiusly, dreading the answer.

"You can afford to turn the sharpshooter in for that bounty once we take his place. Bonner here may not be part bloodhound like your man, but he can track with the best of them. With us as your new backup, you don't need him anymore. Kestrel figures Larabee only keeps the pup around as a favor to Wilmington."

"You're saying Kestrel plans on you replacing our... " Josiah's fury was building like West Texas thunderheads.

How the hell did these men know about the bounty on Vin's head?

"Hey, hey, you're safe. You and the Doc. Kes says you're good for 'public relations'."

Josiah stood slowly, ready to rip the heads off of these men.

Suddenly a calming hand came to rest on his arm.

Nathan's warm dark eyes warn him off. "That must mean Kestrel thinks he can get Chris to let Buck ride out?" The healer prodded.

Bonner laughed drunkenly. "Do you know how much Kes hates Wilmington? He wants that maverick's spot in this gang so bad he can taste it."

"Buck, Vin, JD... that's three." Nathan asked the leading question.

Bonner took the bait. "Standish ruined his military career with that escape."

"Ain't neither of them comin' out of that POW camp if Kes has to kill 'em himself." Carson agreed.

Josiah felt his spine turn to an icicle. The man who Buck was trusting as go-between in the escape, to watch his back, was planning on killing him and Ezra.

"Those two ain't gonna survive to lead the prison break." Bonner confirmed. "Yep, rescuing the POW's is going to make the Magnificent Seven even more famous than that Jock Steele guy did. Only by that time we'll be the Magnificent Seven." Carson laughed uproarishly and swung his arms around to take in all of his new "partners".

"You think that Chris is going to listen to that son-of-a-bitch after what he caught him at last night?" Nathan was controlling himself and his best friend; biding time; gathering information.

He'd let Josiah at them later.

"That's right, you didn't know him before. Kestrel says when Larabee loses someone he's not human. He's a loaded cannon. Anyone that can get through the gunpowder can direct him. Last time it was Wilmington hard as Kestrel tried to be the one. With him the one what's dead, nobody can keep Kes from controlling the 'great gunfighter'. Don't matter what came before, don't matter what will come after. He just needs to be controlled says ol' Kestrel."

"Besides," Carson volunteered and Josiah and Nathan could hear curiosity in his tone, "whoever bought Kes away from Carlisle must have plans of their own." Carson lounged back against the boulders at his back like they were a lady's swooning couch and tipped the bottle straight up to strain out the last amber drops.

Nathan couldn't hold his friend back any longer.

The Preacher grabbed the chunky ex-soldier by the collar and pulled him up and close. "What the hell are you talking about?"

This was spiraling into a nightmare.

Someone had hired Kestrel?

The healer, gun drawn, stood between Josiah, his victim and the other two men.

Bonner and young Darby were just as protective of Carson as the seven would be of one of their own and were moving in.

Nathan held his other hand out in a move to placate his enraged comrade and that motion also asked him to take this slow; wait for an answer.

"We were on the trail of these people - the ex-soldiers and their captives." Carson stammered as he fought at the fists that pulled his collar up so tight that Josiah's meaty knuckles jammed into his cheeks and jaw.

He rushed to get the words out.

"One night Kes practically kidnaps Darby; tells him he knows all about us and he can help us get revenge and rescue the others. We just had to wait until you gunfighters from Four Corners got involved."

Nathan didn't want to believe that someone had gone to such lengths to get them here. "You needed Ezra, someone Bridger knew... " He forced out the words hoping that saying them would make them true. A simple answer.

"Any Confederate would have taken the risk to save his brother soldiers. Standish being here was just Kes' good luck. Wilmington and Larabee, that's another story."

Nathan felt tiny tremors go through Josiah even from the distance.

Sanchez tightened his grip on Carson and appeared to be about to hurl him across the fire.

A surprisingly soothing voice reached him before he could act. "Put him down, Josiah."

Everyone's eyes skimmed to the shadowy silhouette at the edge of the fire.

Chris Larabee stepped into the circle of camp light followed by an enigmatic Tanner and wide-eyed, anxious JD.

They had heard.

Larabee slid beside the older man and put a gentling hand on his arm. "Put him down." He said softly.

Josiah frowned slightly when he didn't see his own anger reflected back from the lethal gunfighter. Instead he saw regret and something else he couldn't identify.

"Kestrel told them what they wanted to hear." Nodding at Carson still in Sanchez's grip, Larabee explained with an insight that sank in to all around him. "He was only watching out for his men; trying to find them a home." His grip on the older man's arm tightened fractionally, companionably. "They aren't the enemy."

Chris spoke over his shoulder to JD. "Get started on the horses."

The boy bolted off to have something to do.

Their leader waited.

Josiah finally released his grip.

Chris's tone had cut through Josiah's anger. He mastered it and understood. There was a lot to be worked out, but it would be done on the trail.

They were heading out now to undermine the time line Kestrel had established for himself.


	20. Chapter 20

The guards' saddlebags and the one wagon were loaded with their plunder.

There looked to be extra ammunition, guns and explosives in the wagon as well.

The remuda at least followed behind so that the prisoners didn't have to eat dust as they walked. Cataloging their situation, Wilmington was trying to distract himself from their forced march, the ache in his back and the weakness that was weighing down on him. He tried to concentrate on "sun dogs" that chased themselves around the haze-diffused sun. It didn't help.

There wouldn't be much heat today.

The cold that had set in overnight reminded him and all of the others it was still late winter. And him with no shirt. He'd been miserable long enough, thank you.

Buck tried to watch for an opportunity to escape or at least slow things down and give Chris time to arrive. All he could really do was shuffle one foot forward at a time.

He and Ezra supported each other. Ezra was withdrawn, but he seemed to be in control of himself. Buck wouldn't admit it out loud, but the conman being so beside himself had shaken him. And he was still much too quiet.

Ezra appreciated that Buck didn't try to pull him into conversation. There were some things he had to work through and bury on his own. To be so rowdy and talkative most of the time, the man had a keen insight into when to let the silence and his mere presence speak for him.

Part of the truth was that they were both too tired to speak.

He regretted all the physical support he had to draw from his taller friend, but the thigh wound barely allowed him to walk.

And Buck was weaker than he let on. The fever radiated from that knife wound now that Nathan wasn't around to tend it. He tried to fight the painful, hacking cough that had returned in the night, but it was a losing battle.

What a pair they made. The conman's cynical predisposition had him laughing at them both. Too stupid and too stubborn to give up.

They had thought he was asleep last night but he lay with eyes closed and listened as Buck rallied the others.

He had assured them that they did have friends who knew where they were and would come for them.

Like Ezra, he had known that these so-called soldiers would leave no witnesses alive and had found the strength to coordinate it so that as many of the injured and sick as possible had designated assistance for when they started out.

"I know it's a burden, but it's a human life. Carry them as long as you can." Buck had said it simply as the fact that it was. "Our friends will be here. I know you're hurt, too, but will you be able to live with yourself if you don't try?"

The stronger men who were still healthy picked up Buck's words of encouragement.

They would stand together. They would fight to the end.

And, Ezra had decided as he listened, he would fight, too. Not because he was so gullible as to believe they could pull together and get out of this, but if he threw in the hand, he knew that foolhardy Buck wouldn't leave him. And that would have undermined the hope he established in the others.

So here they were, drawing from somewhere, drawing from each other and bluffing. And he'd be damned if he wasn't proud of this group. They had pulled together and, so far, had been able to support each other and not lose one of their own.

And he was proud of himself in a way that he hadn't been very many times before.

Ezra thought back on the events of the night before and, unfortunately to the too real present.

The men were tiring, wearing down.

Four men were already being completely supported by the others.

They had probably traveled 8 miles, no more.

However, Chris and the others weren't expected to be in the area until much later in the day.

No sooner did his thoughts turn in that direction, than two men dropped to their knees under the weight of the third man they carried.

As if that lack of strength was permission, two other groups slumped to the ground with their burdens.

Carlisle stayed at the front of the line. Bridger's horse pranced back to where the line had been broken. He surveyed the injured with flagrant disinterest. "Sir," he called back to the front as if Carlisle really were an officer in good standing.

"Mr. Bridger?" Came the reply.

"We are being significantly hindered in our progress, Sir. I believe it could be part of a plot to delay our advance toward the Mason-Dixon. May I suggest we determine if these men are in fact in a conspiracy to threaten our success and carry out sentences against these who are found guilty?"

"So be it." Was the abrupt, callous passing of sentence.

The men were shuffled into a group.

Kestrel led men who chose the most seriously injured as those who would be facing trials, sentences and ultimate execution.

Wilmington was trembling in anger as he watched this man so impassively cross back and forth between the lines of right and wrong.

Suddenly Kestrel grabbed Ezra by the collar in the same manner that they were choosing their other victims. Buck came up with him, determined this double-crosser would not take his friend.

Kestrel used the movement that he knew would occur as the opportunity to shove a single stick of dynamite into the shredded remnants of the conman's once fine linen shirt. "I'll stall. There's two saddled horses at the back of the wagon. There's gun belts and rifles in the sheaths." The man hissed. His long black hair was whipped around his face by the gusty wind. He struggled with Buck to give himself time to continue.

Other guards moved in.

Bridger was kneeing his horse that direction. He spoke fast. "I'll delay the executions. You make it to the horses, I'll follow with as many men as I can."

The guards finally arrived and pulled Buck from the black-haired man.

Kestrel took his small cigar and burned a brand into Buck's bare chest.

The lanky lady's man of the Magnificent Seven refused to give the fancy gunfighter the satisfaction of crying out.

Ezra tried to pull away from the handsome two-timer, but blood loss was weakening him.

Kestrel laughed and maliciously dropped the butt at their feet. He shoved Ezra to the ground and motioned for the others to do the same with Wilmington. "Those two have a few more miles in 'em."

And he strolled over to the more seriously injured and had them cut from the others like cattle from the herd.

Buck was breathing deeply as he fought the most recent pain.

"Do you have any insight into the motivation of our controversial ally?"

Buck was amazed at how weak the voice was and yet how long the words. Garnering the gist of the question, he responded, "He's settin' us up."

"Agreed. Any notions as to why?"

Buck shook his head as he studied the situation they found themselves in. "Not a 'notion', Pard. But I reckon I'd rather go out fightin' and the more men who follow us the less these other fellers will have to deal with."

Ezra murmured. "Do you expect our compatriots in the near future?"

Buck laughed but it again turned into a racking cough. As he picked up the cigar and puffed on it to keep it lit, he responded. "If I did, we'd be stickin' close."

They had a little time. Bridger's men were still evaluating the injured.

Ezra turned so that his eyes met those of the men behind him. The Southerner made a slight show of the tip of the dynamite.

The men, Phillips, recovering from the snake bite and a prisoner who had been buddied up with him, understood.

Phillips gripped the chunk of flint he had been convinced to carry in his pocket. He turned and told the man next to him to be prepared.

The word, the anticipation, worked its way through the prisoners. What was it with these two men that instilled hope where no hope should exist?

"You want to explain yourself?" Ezra asked casually in response to Buck's last statement.

The two friends were occupying their time, waiting, making conversation. They were waiting for a time when the most guards were in the same area so the single stick of dynamite would do the most good.

"'Cause whatever the hell our old bud is up to, he's trying to get us on our own. And we're gonna be on our own the minute we hit those horses."

"I'm waiting for an explanation. You're logic escapes me."

"Chris is gonna be so busy lookin' for a fight, he won't know we're missing 'til it's too late to do us any good." He truly believed Kestrel was stalling for them. He didn't know why. He had no clue that Kestrel wanted to be the hero who saved as many lives as possible - as long as those lives didn't include himself and Standish. He just had to trust that whatever ends the conniving son-of-a-bitch was working toward, it included delaying the death of these men.

"I beg to differ. I wager Mr. Larabee will put your location as a priority."

"Hell, I wish. That would set a lot of things right, but Kestrel already knows Chris'll be lookin' for revenge and to stop these men. He won't be able to see beyond that." He thought back on how Larabee had ridden past him with driven indifference when he had chased the men away from the Zimmermans' wagon.

Buck was pulling his legs under himself.

The most seriously wounded had been separated like wheat from chaff. They didn't have much time.

He helped Ezra position himself for a quick start. "How much can you do with your leg?"

"I have every intention of making it to that horse, Mr. Wilmington."

Buck nodded. At least, Wilmington thought, the gambler had fought through everything that happened last night and come out on the other side. That was good enough for him.

Ezra studied his friend and saw a wistful regret he was trying to hide. "I have a double eagle which backs my assertion that Mr. Larabee will insure our safety as a top priority."

"Pretty safe bet. You win, I owe you. I win, I gotta hope we both end up in the same hereafter to collect."

Ezra met his eyes with that inscrutable look he'd seen so many times when the gambler held the winning hand over a poker table. Buck threw him the first sincere, brilliant smile in weeks. "You're on, Ezra. Good luck."

It had a double meaning. As he spoke, they had come to a second, silent agreement and Ezra had pulled the dynamite from his shirt. Buck lit it and hurled it at a clutch of guards.

Thinking back on it, Chris wouldn't be able to pinpoint any single emotion or observation when they reached the compound and realized it was abandoned. He registered the dark haired body on the ground outside the barbed wire fencing. He saw two more inside the wire. He wasn't ready to know more. He wasn't ready to ride down there.

His horse was moving in that direction of its own accord, but slowly; unable to pick up on any of its master's commands.

Chris locked down on any thoughts that tried to interpret what he was seeing. He didn't want to think. The perceptive hazel eyes consciously registered the physical environment in an attempt to keep his mind from wandering to places he didn't want it to go.

Even from a distance he could tell the bodies had been there long enough for the blood to dry to a rusty brown.

Buzzards were hopping toward the corpses, but didn't seem to have attacked yet.

There were no horses, no tents, nothing.

It wasn't quiet. There were birds. For some reason his mind categorized the songs of a mockingbird, oriole and those damn rain birds. They were always right. A storm was rolling in.

It should have been too early for cicada, but there was one, by damn.

Then he knew why the sounds had touched him. It meant that whatever happened here had been over long enough for nature to return to normal.

There was the rustling of wind on dead grass.

Then he saw the skins of dead diamondbacks. What the hell is all that about?

A word echoed in his brain. Late. Too late. Again. Something caught in his chest; it felt like something solid and for a moment he couldn't breath.

JD was staying beside him. His little pony pranced. He wanted to move forward but held her back and kept their leader's pace. If he was seeking comfort, he was in the wrong place.

Josiah was standing in his stirrups; scanning the horizon.

Carson, Bonner and Darby, reserved after being overruled when they still thought they should wait, where in quiet shock. Was this a betrayal by Kestrel or something he couldn't prevent?

Vin moved on ahead and circled the area looking for signs of what had happened. He remembered how proud he had been of his best friend last night.

Despite the turmoil Kestrel had put him through, Larabee had been able to see Carson and his friends had been equally manipulated, misled, lied to. They had been offered security and a place to settle down. Carson's life had led him to believe those things had to be bought with fear and intimidation. He was watching out for his compadres as best he could.

Not so many days ago Larabee would have lashed out in anger at the closest target. Whatever "consequences" he had been dwelling on must have inched him toward some measure of inner peace or maybe helped him put things in perspective - What he had, what he'd lost what he could still lose.

Tanner was afraid of what he himself would lose if they were too late arriving here today. He suddenly knew with dead-on clarity how Wilmington had felt the day they came upon the burned remains of Larabee's home.

Vin took a deep, shuddering breath. It didn't help. He knew how he felt, but he didn't know how to put it into words, even to himself. He hadn't been raised to regret, but to accept; he hadn't expected anything from anyone and hadn't been disappointed. That philosophy didn't lend itself to examining one's emotions.

He missed Ezra or Josiah being there almost like mind readers to help him put in order his recent attachments to this misfit family he had adopted and the feelings they brought out.

He missed Buck laughing and telling him nothing is too big for them to all handle together.

Beyond the pain and loss he saw in the eyes of Chris and JD, Nathan and Josiah, he missed his Ezra and his Buck; his friends and what they added to his life. Under the surface he was on the verge of erupting and he didn't know who would explode first, him or Larabee.

The blast that rumbled from the east was like a starting gun.

Larabee had Habanero headed that direction at full speed.

Vin had a lead on him. He had been on that side of the camp and wasn't waiting for anyone to catch up.

JD, Nathan and Josiah where pacing Chris. He didn't care where Carson and his crew were. This was going to end now.


	21. Chapter 21

Buck was already moving as he tossed the rod. He had a hand under Ezra's arm and they were on the run.

There were shouts of warning and alarm as they scrambled toward the wagon.

Buck's entire focus was in getting them both to the horses.

The blast caused them to stumble but never fall.

Ezra was hopping and limping on his wounded leg, but he was keeping up. That struck Ezra as funny. He and Mr. Wilmington were so battered that they must both be moving at half speed.

Somehow they reached the horses despite the bullets now flying around them.

Buck grabbed the rifle from its scabbard and covered Ezra as he mounted up.

Buck took out two guards who were firing arbitrarily into the prisoners.

Two of the prisoners picked up the weapons these men dropped as soon as they fell.

The prisoners had come through. They were fighting the guards. It was mostly hand to hand. They were still outgunned.

One of the phony Union soldiers broke free and his pistol coughed, it brought down three prisoners before Erza's bullet took him out.

It might be hopeless, but if they could lure any number of the guards after them, that would even the odds for the others.

"Mr. Wilmington!" Ezra tossed him the reins of the other horse.

He swung into the saddle and they raced toward the craggy hills in front of them.

"Samuels! Escape. Stop them!" Kestrel bellowed.

The man looked up from his gun when he heard his name called. He saw the two men riding out. He fired.

They were out of pistol range.

Military training took over.

The ex-soldiers and their highwaymen tag-a-longs began shouting orders to regroup.

"Samuels!"

"Retreat!"

"Back up. They're no match for our guns."

On the other side of the battle were heard shouts of "Hand to hand."

"Grab the guns they drop!"

"Keep in close and they can't use the guns."

Everything was running together. But the soldiers were regrouping. They were backing up to the wagon and calling their shots.

Those recently imprisoned scrambled to hide behind rocks. A few had come up with guns from the fallen enemy and returned fire.

Kestrel ran by, slapped ten men on the shoulder.

These men fell in behind him, swung onto their horses and went after the firebrands who had instigated this disaster.

Buck and Ezra were only now several hundred yards ahead of them.

Buck and Ezra concentrated on outrunning the men they knew were following.

They had to get them as far away from the center of the uprising as possible. They would wait to return fire until they felt the bullets zing around them. The top priority now was to divide the enemy and give the others a chance.

Buck could feel a stickiness that meant his back wound had opened up. Sweat burned his eyes. The rope burns were a little worse than he had let on.

The exertion was causing each coughing breath to burn through his throat. And damn, he was tired.

With nothing to do but to give the horse its head and hold on, this was the first time his body had time to acknowledge his exhaustion. It threatened to shut down. He held on to consciousness.

Ezra's leg throbbed every time the horse's hooves hit the ground. This gait was nowhere near as smooth as Gambit.

The truth was his back would never stop itching and the fever was finally reaching beyond the original wound to attack the rest of his body.

His horse hopped over a fallen log and jarred his bruised body almost to the point of intolerance. But he kept going. He wasn't sure he ever thought he'd get this far.

Chris and the others had almost caught up with Vin's Indian pony when they came upon the showdown.

The soldiers, several hiding behind the wagon and nearby slabs of rock were outnumbered but held the distinct advantage in firepower.

Several soldiers lie unmoving on the ground.

Many more prisoners, identified by their rags that passed for clothes, had fallen. Some were moving, but had nowhere to go as the bullets flew around them.

Bridger and Carlisle both sat their mounts and directed their men toward victory.

Carlisle fell with a bullet hole in his throat. He meant nothing more to Tanner than a target, an outlet for his rage he had kept hidden inside.

Rifle and pistol fire erupted behind the prisoners.

Chris Larabee and his men, spread out only enough to not present a single tight-knit target, rode through the freedom fighters and straight toward their captors.

Carson, Bonner and Darby leapt from their horses and, rifles blazing, took the assignment of gathering the guns of the fallen and redistributing them to their new allies.

A cheer went up from the rag-tag fighters.

"Buck!" Chris called out. He stayed on his horse and used the vantage point to seek out his men. "Ezra!"

Distracted, looking for his friends, Chris ignored the bullets around him.

Vin and Josiah moved to his side so that all three could cover each others' backs and at the same time give a part of their attention to seeking out the others.

"Ezra!" Vin barked.

Across the battle arena he heard JD calling for Buck.

Jack Phillips hobbled up to Larabee and grabbed Habanero's reins to get his attention.

The fierce glare that was thrown at him brought him up short. But he made himself heard over the gunfire and shouting. "Wilmington. Standish. They led the others away from us. Kestrel will kill them." He pointed in the direction the two regulators had ridden.

"Damn." He met the eyes of Vin and Josiah.

His eyes flashed around the conflict, "Like hell he will."

The free POW's had reached the wagon and the weapons and ammunition there. It took a blink to see this.

"Nathan! JD!" Larabee's hail cut across everything to those who were used to hearing him give commands. By the time they looked around, their leader, the tracker and the priest where headed out.

Immediately they kicked their horses after them.

Carson, Bonner and Darby continued to organize the men. Carson's military knowledge and strategy rivaled Bridger.

In the distance they heard a bugle.

The first bullet sang past Standish's head just about the time he thought they might keep ahead of the men chasing them. He glanced over at his partner.

Buck was focused on staying in his saddle. The bullet had missed both of them.

Ezra glanced back. Kestrel and the others weren't really gaining on them. That had been a lucky shot to even reach their range. Their luck was holding.

And then the luck ran out.

Ezra felt the cinch snap on his horse.

The woven cotton dropped down to where it tickled at the skittish animal's flanks. She began to buck and bounce on all fours.

Ezra felt himself losing his seat and the saddle was swaying to the left with the movement.

Ezra lost his right stirrup and instinctively tried to free his left foot as well. The sudden movement caused a painful cramp in the leg and, leaning into the pain, he also leaned into the stirrup.

The saddle began to swing.

The britchens and breast collars held. Instead of the saddle sliding off the back of the horse, it rotated under its belly.

All the time Ezra fought to free his left leg. It was no use. His injuries played against him.

His ankle slid forward in the stirrup and he and the saddle where dragged much too near the terrified mare's back hooves.

Buck had sensed problems almost as soon as things began to fall apart.

He reached out and grabbed Ezra's mare's reins and shuffled both animals to a stop. But Ezra's weight combined with the gear caused the poor creature to lose balance as well and it rolled over him.

At least the momentum kept her going and ribs, which could easily have been broken, were only cracked.

On her way up the mare kicked out and caught Buck's left hand as he put it up to protect his face. He felt the bones break in his palm even as he tried to go with the strike. The pain immediately radiated down his arm.

Buck had extra ammo belts and gunbelts wrapped across his chest.

His left hand all but useless, he wrapped his elbow around a rifle to pull it from Ezra's saddle. He scooped his arm through the extra gun belt and holster.

With a glance he noticed that the cinch on Ezra's saddle had been cut half in two.

This was no accident.

Kestrel had never planned that they make it further than this.

There wasn't time to speculate on the bastard's motives. His convoluted thought processes... to hell with him.

Buck grabbed Ezra under the arm and practically jerked him to his feet.

Ezra couldn't control the sharp cry that escaped his lips. He was sweating and had both arms wrapped around his chest.

"Sorry, Pard, but we move now or we don't move."

Their horses were gone.

Ezra glanced up to see Kestrel and his men bearing down on them.

The accident had occurred in the span of a few heartbeats.

But injured and with their mounts lost, there was no escape.

The two men ran, stumbled, crawled and finally tumbled down a small ravine into a dry creek bed and the scant, temporary protection it provided.

Chris was low over Habanero's neck. His hat, held by its strap, flapped to escape the buffeting wind.

Chris shut his mind down to a narrow focus. He'd gotten good at it. He wouldn't think until he got to Buck and Ezra and the soldiers.

He didn't plan on thinking then. He'd just act.

He was relieved when he finally heard gunfire. He hoped that meant his friends were still alive and fighting. He never thought he would be praying to not hear gunfire end.


	22. Chapter 22

Buck and Ezra propped themselves against the rough creek bank.

Buck raised up and fired twice, preserving his ammo, but at the same time assuring the attacking men their quarry wasn't giving up without a fight.

He smiled broadly to see the men leave their horses and dive for cover.

"I 'magine Nathan's gonna to be royally perturbed, us gettin' ourselves in this condition." Buck commented as he ripped up what was left of the shirt on Ezra's back for bandages.

Ezra took one of the strips and used it to bandage Buck's left hand. He then placed the gun in the palm and molded the fingers into a grip.

Buck returned the favor and strapped Ezra's left arm to his chest to protect the cracked ribs. A second gun was positioned more securely in his other hand as well.

They continued to help each other bandage the damage as they spoke. Occasionally they raised up enough to return fire and keep their would-be assassins at bay.

"So, where are we going after this?" Ezra asked, then he partially answered his own question with a raised hand, and the amendment, "After Tuscosa?"

"I've heard of Canada."

"Too cold."

"Yeah, and besides, I hear they speak French." There was a pause as Buck wiped blood from a cut over Ezra's left eye. "New York?" Buck suggested.

"Thought you wanted to go where you could understand the language. We'd need a translator."

"Oh, hell yeah, people with accents are a pain in the ass." The statement was not lost on Ezra and he smirked.

"New Orleans?" Ezra responded.

"I can't speak that Cajun stuff."

"Texas?" Ezra offered, a little exasperated. How could they not agree on a place to go?

"Be hell tellin' the Kid he couldn't tag along there."

"California?!"

Bucks' smile, through the pain, told Ezra that was the answer.

"Hey, Big Dog!" There was joy and humor in Kestrel's voice. "Wanna call it a day?"

"Whose side are you on, Pard?"

"Mine. And I can't tell you what pleasure it'll give me to see your body laid out for the vultures."

"Guilt by association. The story of my life." Ezra murmured.

"Oh, hell, Ezra. With all your big words, innocent is one I don't think you ever learned."

The banter died down. Buck one-handedly snapped the cylinder open on his second gun and checked the bullets. Then clicked it closed again.

Buck reflected on the last few days as Ezra spun up and around to throw some deterring gunfire at Kestrel's gang. He never figured all that Clay Kestrel was up to, but he did recall that overriding hatred he had been seeing in those eyes the last few days.

He found some comfort in realizing that for all the anger and maybe disappointment he'd seen in Chris's eyes over the last few years, he had never seen that hatred. Nothing near it. He may have thought he had been seeing hatred, but now, in the end, at least he knew differently. It helped a little.

Ezra hunkered down beside the rangy mischief-maker as he tossed the empty gun aside and picked up a spare.

Their eyes met.

No words were needed.

They were going out fighting.

Both determinedly pushed themselves up using the rocks to support their backs and turned to face the odds.

Gunfire erupted violently; more than they had heard before.

"Buck!"

They both immediately slid back to shelter.

"Chris?" There was a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"Comin' in!"

Buck hadn't heard that declaration since .. but he still knew what it meant.

A sly, one-sided grin came across Ezra's bruised face. "You, Mr. Wilmington, owe me a gold piece."

Buck's face held a peace it hadn't reflected in many days.

Ezra was right. Chris had chosen to come save them rather than avenge himself or others.

It was as if everything was suddenly all right. He winked at the Southern gambler.

"Cover us." He directed Ezra who watched him in utter disbelief.

Buck stood tall.

His left arm, though the hand held a gun, was stiff at his side. His right arm was fully extended to aim down his arm as if it were an extension of the barrel.

He limped, more than he wanted to show, but there was a confident stride as he moved into the bullets that flew about like angry bees.

Even if his left arm wasn't wounded, there was the appearance that it would still be at his side. For coming toward him, matching his posture, positioning and surgically accurate gunfire, was Chris Larabee.

They defied the bullets.

There was something charismatic in their pacing.

Dark and light.

Their arms jumped fractionally in reaction to the Colts' recoil, but never bent, never stopped seeking their sight picture, their target.

Larabee's duster whipped around his legs in the building winds.

Buck's bared chest and back revealed bruises and cuts that galvanized the others.

Vin, JD, Josiah and Nathan moved forward more gradually, offering protective gunfire and staying behind cover.

JD watched in awe. These men were bigger than life, walking down the middle of a shootout, completely confident in each other's aim and that they would and could protect one the other.

Even the more jaded, Ezra felt a bit of the wonderment as these two matched each other's moves.

Josiah suddenly understood a concept he had heard about while his father taught the Chinese in San Francisco: Yin and Yang.

Kestrel had seen this before. If this bond still existed, he above all the others here had seen what they could do and knew not to go against it. He left his men to cover his escape and moved sinuously to his horse.

The confidence of Chris Larabee and Buck Wilmington shook their enemies resolve.

Those still fighting broke and ran.

Ezra slumped back against their cover.

JD stood quietly and memorized what he had just witnessed.

Vin and Josiah covered them and made sure those that had make good their escape would not return.

Nathan, still alert for danger, headed toward Ezra. He hadn't heard from their seventh since the shooting began.

Adrenaline and necessity both spent, Buck collapsed to his knees, guns still at his side, one in each hand.

Chris's long strides brought him quickly to kneel in front of the man he knew so well that they could make that walk. He gently removed the guns from Buck's hands. "It's over."

Buck took a death grip on Chris's coat to hold himself up.

"Glad to see ya, Pard. Wasn't lookin' forward to not havin' one more beer together." Buck hissed through the pain.

Buck felt a cool hand cradle the back of his neck. "That wasn't going to happen." Chris whispered. "Hell, or Texas, I was riding in to drag you back."

Buck shut his eyes and let the moment fight the pain for him.

Vin slowly began to work his way through the nine bodies lying motionless on the ground.

Josiah headed toward Nathan with a saddlebag full of medical supplies.

"Damn, Ezra. You got more holes in you than a pin cushion." Nathan observed, trying to relax him by making light of the situation.

"Mr. Jackson... " He began and seemed to think of several things to say, but in the end, was too tired to say anything.

"You rest. We'll take care of things now." Nathan, working over Ezra, took time to glance over and try to get a feel for his other patient's condition. What he saw was one of the soldiers, prone on the ground, aim his gun at the two men. "Chris!" He yelled in warning.

Chris instinctively pulled his wounded friend to his chest and shielded him with his body.

Two bullets echoed through the shallow draw.

One ricocheted over several boulders, but never came close to Chris and Buck.

That was because the second, simultaneous blast, from Vin's Mare's leg, cut the would-be assassin down and deflected the aim that would have killed his friends.

Strangely, to Chris's way of thinking, he couldn't let go of the body he cradled in his arms, even after the threat was gone. There was something healing about the touch. And he wasn't going to let go until the healing was complete.

That Buck held even tighter to his lapel told him that he felt it, too.

Josiah raised his eyes to heaven in silent thanks then turned to help Ezra so that Nathan could go to his next patient.

JD felt a tightening in his throat, like when he had known Buck was alive for the first time.

Finally Buck moved enough to pull Chris's attention back to the moment. "Ezra?" Buck asked, concerned about his friend.

As Nathan walked toward them, Chris raised his eyes and silently relayed the question to their healer.

"They're both too stubborn to die. They'll just stick around and make the rest of us have to set on them while they heal." Nathan knelt down by the two friends. "Lie him down, Chris. Let me see where to start."

Chris smiled at the long-suffering tone in the healer's voice. He knew it hid true relief.

He gently, almost begrudgingly laid Buck carefully back. Their eyes met.

Then Chris, as if he couldn't handle this moment any longer, looked up to seek out JD.

The boy stood nearby, itching to check on his brother, but unwilling to intrude.

"JD, come sit with Buck while I check on Ezra." Chris offered.

JD bolted forward, grabbed Buck's hand and held on for life. "God, Buck, I was so worried, I... "

"He's asleep, Son." Nathan smiled. "Tell him again when he's rested up.

Chris slid down the embankment just as Josiah helped Ezra with a drink from the canteen.

The moody gunfighter hunkered down and waited for the conman to meet his eyes. When the tired, heavy lidded green eyes met with hazel ones he asked softly. "How you doin'?"

"Mr. Larabee, you never cease to surprise me."

"Not too difficult when you demand the best and expect the worst." He casually tossed the words back at his resident antagonist.

Ezra reminded him of a fish out of water as his mouth opened and closed several times but no sound came out.

Larabee kept a stern countenance as long as he could then he broke into a sincere smile. "Maybe I should surprise you more often." The gunfighter put a callused hand to the side of the gambler's face. "Glad to have you back."

And then he was gone.

Ezra looked to Josiah with a 'what just happened here' look on his face that had the gentle giant busting out in laughter.

Taking comfort in the other man's relaxed state, Ezra drifted off into the first peaceful sleep in several days.

Larabee heard the laughter as he joined Tanner to oversee the care of their family.

Still carrying his mare's leg in one hand, the tracker had scrounged bedrolls from their horses for their friends against the winter chill.

The dark gunfighter felt a twinge of regret when he looked at Tanner. He'd been so self-absorbed he hadn't realized the toll events had been taking on his best friend until he looked at his smile now and saw the weight had lifted.

Tanner knew what the other was thinking and with a shake of his head told him to let it go. Things were okay now.


	23. Chapter 23

The first thing Ezra Standish noticed as he crept back to consciousness was that he felt clean. Why was that so significant?

 _Oh, God_ He tried to sit up when he remembered the prisoners and the camp. _Where am I?_

He looked around the small plank cabin. _Bridger's headquarters_

He fought to get out of the bed.

"Don't be moving around, Ezra," No-nonsense words directed of him.

He started to fight against the hand on his shoulder then an identity matched up to the voice. Finally his eyes cooperated and opened.

"Mr. Larabee?" His own voice sounded like gravel.

"You want some water?" Was the reply in way of acknowledgment.

Ezra was still getting his bearings.

Something had been put over the window to keep as much light out as possible.

That damned duster didn't detract from the image that the silhouetted figure before him was some specter or the angel of death.

The second bed in the small room was empty.

"Mr. Wilmington?" He asked anxiously.

"Nagged Nathan until he let him rest up on a pallet outside for a couple of hours."

"How long?"

"You've been in and out for four days. Mostly out. Doc said it was exhaustion. Do you want that water?"

"Could you supply something stronger?" Ezra prompted.

"I can have Nathan boil up some of his twigs and roots." The blonde deadpanned.

"Water will suffice."

Their leader handed him the tin cup. He knew the independent cuss wouldn't want any help.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Most of the more recent words between them had been less than cordial.

Neither man liked those more personal confrontations. Fists and guns and cards where easier to work with. Even less did they appreciate the current situation where they would have to concede the words spoken.

A dispute, loud and apparently threatening, rose up outside the closed door. With the gunfighter's presence, the gambler had assumed everything was safe. He tensed at the noise and angry voices.

"Rest easy, Ezra. There ain't no problems here."

After two long strides to the door, he turned back to his man recuperating in the bed. "You don't ever go off on your own. None of us faces our past or our future on our own. Got it?"

If Ezra had ever know a father, he suspected this would be how he felt getting a reprimand from such an authority figure. The ultimatum brooked no argument but it wasn't a power thing, a control thing, it was because the other man cared, possibly more than he could put into words.

"Got it." He couldn't help put a hint of a sarcastic caricature of Larabee's own posturing and tone of voice in the reply. He couldn't let the man know exactly how much he appreciated the words.

Larabee threw him a _well, hell, I'm glad everything's back to normal_ smirk and slung open the door to meet the next fracas.

Two pony soldiers were trying to get past JD to reach Buck. They were being none to gentle.

Buck was trying to brace himself against the cabin wall to get to his feet.

Young Lieutenant Franklin, full of piss and vinegar, and proud speech at the ready, reached the porch as Larabee came out. "Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Standish are being moved to the hospital tent under guard. They are material witnesses in this incident and considering their involvement with Commandant Carlisle and Mr. Kestrel... "

"You got your will in order?" Chris asked calmly.

"I beg your pardon?" The officer had been a bit indignant since these regulators had summarily confiscated the former headquarters for their injured men. The poor little guy must have thought that his uniform carried some intimidation factor.

"Sit down, Buck." Chris demanded without looking away from the lieutenant.

The two soldiers backed off sensing they had better know the outcome of this dispute before they touched the boy or the larger man.

The lady's man slid back to the blanket, confident things were under control.

Larabee came eye to eye with the uniformed man and didn't say another word.

"Your last will and testament, son," Another voice wafted in from behind him. "He's asking you if you have it penned."

Franklin recognized the voice of the Preacher; the bear of a man who rode with these others. His voice was surprisingly gentle.

Where originally his men had been alone with the boy to take Wilmington into custody, he now had Larabee in his face, the Preacher behind him and the healer suddenly leaning against the railing shaking his head.

The sharpshooter was slouched with his back against the wall and his hat over his head as if dozing. Even the gambler had worked his way to the door.

And now the damned scoundrel had his head back, eyes closed and a big grin on his face, basking in the warm sun.

"You touch one of my men and your next of kin will be finding you a burial plot." The young man was learning what a too calm Chris Larabee did to your blood. He turned it to ice.

"Why don't you go wire Judge Travis and ask him if he wants to be investing in your headstone before you make any decisions?" Josiah suggested as if he didn't care what the decision was.

Lieutenant Franklin recognized he had been given one out; one way to save face. It didn't matter that it was equally obvious to the others and his own men. He took it. "I'll get back to you with the judge's reply." He scurried back with as much dignity as he could muster.

His soldiers followed and tried not to smile.

"Can't you stay out of trouble even half dead, Buck?" Chris asked angrily.

"Aw, hell, Chris ... " Buck didn't even open his eyes.

Vin chuckled.

Ezra scowled. For all the talking those two did the brotherhood and loyalty never showed up in words. He decided you had to be pretty good at non-verbal communication skills to understand Chris Larabee. But he damn sure let the actions speak for themselves.

Vin gave the gambler a wink when their eyes met and moseyed over to help him sit in a chair next to Buck. The southerner was surprised and touched when the tracker produced a deck of cards and handed them over.

"New medical supplies were delivered." Nathan commented as he decided to ignore his second patient's escape outdoors.

He had been helping medics tending to the wounded and sick. He was trying to change the subject from the poor lieutenant.

But Vin Tanner heard Josiah's deep chuckle. He kept his hat over his face, but responded with a lop-sided grin.

He heard JD snicker.

When he finally raised his hat he saw Nathan shaking his head in silent laughter.

Buck was smiling. Ezra allowed himself a sarcastic grin that reached to his eyes.

"That snake bite feller Buck saved?" The healer continued, "He's the Pa of that young Israel Phillips you were worried about."

Chris nodded but didn't say anything.

It made Josiah wonder, though, if there wasn't some cosmic symmetry. He didn't dwell on it. Not now. Now he relaxed and watched his extended family.

Nathan, too, was evaluating the others and their injuries. Josiah didn't seem any the worse for wear for the bullet that cut across his shoulder. JD looked rested and content to be watching over Buck with the responsibility of assuring neither he nor the other patient moved further than this porch.

Buck and Ezra? They were still tired, still weak, but damn, they looked better than they had.

Carson, Bonner and Darby saluted on their way out. All the good-byes had been said. They were heading out early to help the judge work up charges on Bridger and the other men. Then they were after Kestrel.

 _If I don't get to him first_ Larabee thought.

While they waited for the healing to take place, he and the rest of the seven had spent what time they could helping track down the stragglers who had escaped the round up.

Bridger would stand trial. Judge Travis had already dispatched an escort to take him to Washington, D.C. He might get his damn war crimes trial yet. He simply never thought he would be the defendant.

But they hadn't found Kestrel.

Larabee had felt the anger growing with each day the man stayed free. Josiah had finally taken his arm and laid out to him rather bluntly, that they should all be thankful for what they'd got. They were still whole. That should be enough.

And it was enough for tonight. Things didn't always get resolved, but for tonight, that was enough.

It had been a long time since Larabee remembered to be thankful. But he was greatly appreciative that the scales that weighed so heavily with revenge and anger had righted themselves slightly, balanced just a little with a little thankfulness and peace and friendship, and done it in time to save his friends.

This time Vin snickered, thinking again about the lieutenant and the laughter ran up and down the men.

Chris came up with a lopsided smirk. He patted Vin on the leg as he walked by, took the coffee Josiah proffered and found an open spot to rest between Ezra and Buck.

The lanky gunfighter was dozing now.

Ezra was playing with his deck of cards like it was a long lost lover.

They both needed a lot of sleep. They wouldn't be leaving until they were fit to travel.

The legendary gunfighter was still feeling a little protective, a little territorial over all his men. The feelings of companionship and brotherhood worked their way back and forth among the men like ball lightning across barbed wire.

Clay Kestrel strolled into the elegant saloon. He had traveled long and hard to get out of Larabee's territory until he could regroup.

He had under-estimated. Larabee and Wilmington had extended their rapport to include the rest of the seven.

They were going to be that much harder to defeat. He couldn't control them. He knew that now. And there was always what Wilmington knew that he didn't know he knew.

He would have to destroy them all and build on the reputation that accomplishment would bring him. The fear it would instill in the new territories when he could destroy that legend would insure him of his future and his place in history.

He would need help.

He walked toward the dark corner of the room.

The sultry, dangerous brunette was waiting for him. She wouldn't be happy that he had failed. But what the hell. He had controlled the most intelligent of people. And being that she was obsessed, she could be manipulated.

He would make her love him. And then they would try again to kill them all.

THE END 


End file.
